The Black Wolf : The 53rd Hunger Games
by laptop246
Summary: Tara Goldsteed isn't much of a girl. Her only gift in life is intellect, and animals have been attracted to her since birth. She's just 13. How can she possibly win the Games? Tori Dawn, her district partner, is distant and mysterious. And Tara lives in constant fear of the girl from District 2, sly Alex Brown. More than that, there are two handicapped tributes she feels to save
1. Part 1 Tara

PART 1

Tara 


	2. Darkness

I am in a dark place. There are trees . . . lots of dark, black trees. Usually, I like trees. Usually, they are full of life. But not these trees. Their leaves are drooping and black. No birds nest in the trees; no crickets chirp from the dark. All is completely and utterly quiet and dark.

And then, quite suddenly, from the darkness, comes a high and bloodcurdling scream. It raises the hairs on my neck and arm, making me suppress a shiver. I begin to hurry towards the sound – I can't stand the thought that something might be in pain; and that I might be able to help it.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the scream stops, and the eerie silence begins again. I start to a halt, my hands clasping over my mouth. I live in District 10. Occasionally, an animal in the slaughterhouse screeches. But when it ends abruptly . . . we all know what happened.

Suddenly it occurs to me that this is not District 10. This is a darker and gloomier place. And whatever killed the thing that had screamed must be nearby. I turn quickly, and begin running into the dark, looming trees that cover the sky; the stars; the moon. I am a quick runner, and make good time through the trees, fear making my instincts sharper. No where feels safe.

And then, quite suddenly, there is fire ahead. I turn quickly to avoid it, running to my right. But then the fire's there too. I spin around, looking for an escape, but the fire is everywhere, creeping slowly towards me. I wipe my brow where the sweat is forming from both heat and fear. The fire leaps on me, and I back away, my hand burning in pain, the hairs singed.

Then, all of a sudden, there is a roaring wave splashing onto me, and water is everywhere. At first, I am glad that the fire is gone, but then I can't breathe, and the water is cold, and I am swimming and swimming, but if there is any top, I can't reach it . . .

I am jerked awake by a nose in my ear. I look over and see the bronze deer that I was nursing all night crouched by me. It's leg is in a splint, but he looks much better. I sit up, shaking off the nightmare and rubbing my eyes.

"All right," I told him quietly. "Lie down; I want to look at that leg."

Of course, the deer doesn't understand my words. But he understands what I want him to do. He lays down and stays quite still, while I rewrap the wound on it – this deer had fallen onto the streams in the river, where it had badly wounded its leg. It would have died had I not found him. I had spent the whole night nursing him; sleeping only when he slept, and I had done all I could.

When I was done with the wrappings, and was confident that they were tight enough, I patted the deer's stomach. "All right, my friend. You're good to go." The deer got up, as did I, and we stared each other in the eye for a moment. "If you need help again, just come to me," I told him, and he dipped his head, and walked off.

I watched him go, and then dusted my hands off and walked away, my shoulder sagging slightly. It was near 9 o'clock in the morning, and I still felt extremely groggy. There was a cawing sound above me, and I saw a hawk circling above me. I stuck out my arm, and it landed on the leather strap around my arm. I stroked its beak absently.

As I walked back to District 10, more animals join me. I greet them without a word – the occasional tossed treat, or stroke. In return, they rub against my legs; birds nest in my hair, their pecks gentle and fond. They treat me as they would a friend – which is only right. Whenever one of them is hurt, I go and heal them. If they are hungry, I give them food. In return, they are my friends. Some of my only in this District. They don't dare fight in my presence; even predator and prey can stand together as friends. They simply understand that I will not allow it, and that they can do what they like out of my company.

Every once and a while, I notice a friend is gone. All I can feel for them is remorse. Thus is the way of the world – I cannot change it, and I cannot be angry at my friends follow these rules. All the same, I do not eat meat; simply because I can avoid eating eat. My friends in the wild and those in the pastures cannot. And that is that.

When I leave the shelter of the trees, most of the animals leave my sides, including the falcon still perched on my arm. But a few stay, such as the fox at my heel, and the blue jays in my hair. As I walk past the pastures, the many animals call out greetings to me, which I nod at and continue walking.

As I walk through the run-down houses of District 10, no one calls greetings to me. No one looks at me twice. A few people shake their heads at the sight of the animals on my shoulders and at my heel, but they don't linger on it. They are used to it by now.

I approach the broken down house. It isn't much. There is a slightly falling apart window box, with a few wilting hydrangeas in it, and a pie in the window. We make the best we can. Auntie says the most important thing is staying together, and I agree. At least the house smells inviting.

I enter the house and am immediately enveloped by the smell of cherry pie. My brother, Matthew, sits at the old, chipped table, eating a piece of the pie. Unlike my aunt and I, he doesn't have red hair and blue eyes – he inherited our father's brown hair and green eyes. He glances up at me, so that I can see cherry smeared all over his face, and his says, through a full mouth,

"Hey, Tara,"

"Good morning, Matthew," I tell him, taking a seat opposite of him. "You've got a little something – right around there." I gesture to his face, and he grins.

"Yeah, I know. Good stuff, huh?" And, with that, he puts another large mouthful into his already bulging mouth.

I wrinkle my nose at him. "You are disgusting."

He snorts. "Get used to it already."

I am about to give a sharp retort, when Auntie calls from the back of the house. "Tara? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Auntie!" I called back, and in a moment, my aunt appeared.

"Hello, darling," my Auntie Rose was my mom's sister…until a many years ago when Mom and Dad had died from a disease that had killed much of the district. Auntie had my own and Mom's red hair and green eyes. Auntie always told me that if she and Mom stood by each other, no one would be able to spot but one difference : Mom's hair was dead straight, and silky, like mine, which Auntie Rose's was bushy and large.

"Good morning," I tell her cheerily, taking a plate from the pile as Auntie sliced me a piece of the pie.

"Where were you last night?" Auntie asks, though only for politeness' sake. She already knows.

"A deer got hurt. Fell into the stream. Nasty cut on his leg."

"Oh, the poor dear," Auntie scoops out the piece of pie, and hands it to me. "How is he now? Did you fix him up?"

I nod shortly. "He's a sweet thing – just left his mother. Hopefully he's learned to be more careful in the future."

"Will he be back?" Matthew asked, cutting himself another piece of pie.

I nearly laugh, but I bite it back, knowing that Matthew would not appreciate this gesture. Matthew had had an encounter with a buck only a few months previously that involved a half eaten piece of pie and an unsuspecting Matthew. Unfortunately, there had been some hard feelings ever since.

"Maybe," I tell him slowly, as though tiptoeing around hot lava. "I do hope so. He is such a nice little guy."

Matthew flushes at the thought of another buck creeping behind him, and looks around despite himself. However, there was nothing for him to see other than a few butterflies on the window, and birds nesting in the nooks and crannies of the house.

"So," he says in a strained sort of way of making conversation. "Reaping Day."

I can only nod in agreement to his statement. Matthew and I have a shared worry each year that one or the other might be put in the games – or worse, both of us. But Auntie puts on a fake smile.

"Ah, yes, Reaping Day!" she looks out to the clothesline through the small hole in the wall that used to be a window. "Our best clothes are drying now." She turns back to Matthew and me. "You washed last night, didn't you, Matthew?"

Matthew nods, dripping pie down his front. I privately think that he should bathe again, but know that he won't want to. When Auntie turns to me, blood-stained and stinky, I smile apologetically. "I'm going down to the stream with Leah to wash. In fact," I looked up at the sun in the sky, checking the time. "she should be here any minute."

My aunt's face softens considerably when I mention Leah, my mute friend. Matthew only nods. He doesn't like Leah, but tolerates her. Well, he doesn't prank her like he does the rest of the District, which is something, I suppose.

"Well, then," Auntie says, getting out another plate. "I'll get some pie ready for her. Cherry is her favorite, right?"

I shrug. "Auntie, you know that she loves all of your cooking."

Auntie flushes slightly with the compliment. "Oh, please, Tara. Don't exaggerate."

"I don't even see how you know," Matthew wipes off his plate as he looks at me with the same questioning look. "How do you understand her so well? I can't ever make out how she feels – it's like talking to a statue."

"She's not a statue, Matthew," I snapped at him. "She's got feelings, you know?"

"But how do you understand her?"

I hesitated, not knowing how to answer. I'd always just been good at that sort of thing – knowing what people or animals needed. How to calm them, anger them, or joke with them. It makes me get along with people well – everyone knows me. But it especially helps with Leah Brown, the mute girl I met on the first day of school, when no one would play with her but me. Well, that's really the way it still is, but…now she had me.

I am about to shape this into words to fling at Matthew, when the door opens, and I turn to see Leah, white-blond as ever, with those wide blue eyes that dart from Matthew to myself. I give a pointed look to Matthew and walk over to Leah.

"Hello, Leah!" I say cheerily. "How are you today?"

She smiles faintly at me, and Auntie gestures to the pie on the table. "Would you like some dear? Tara said that you like cherry."

Leah only smiled and takes the seat between Matthew and me, calmly using her fork to cut up the pie. She eats slowly, carefully, never dribbling onto her pristine white and sky blue dress.

"Is that what you're wearing to the Reaping?" I ask her. She nods ever so slightly, a movement only I can see. "It's very pretty." She smiles slightly again and continues eating. A gecko settles onto my shoulder, basking on the warmth of my skin.

Leah finished the pie, but we all sit there a moment, enjoying the quiet. Then a robin rests onto my head. Leah's eyes light up like streetlamps, and reaches her hand out. Recognizing the request, I gently lower the robin, meeting its eyes, and placing it on Leah's outstretched hand. It chirped quietly, jumping up and down on her palm nervously, and traveled up her arm to settle on her shoulder, where it rested for a few moments and then flew away.

Leah let out a little sigh of happiness, and cast me a glance that clearly said, _Thank you._ I smile slightly in response.

We sit a few more moments, and I glance outside at the sun. Startled by how much time had passed, I jumped up, making the gecko, alarmed, take cover under my shirtsleeve. "Oh my gosh!" I cried, taking the gecko out and putting him on the table. "Leah, we have to go!"

Giggling slightly, Leah stood and accepted my hand, and we raced toward the door. "See you at the Reaping, Auntie, Matthew!" I gasp at the door, turning to face them. Auntie waves slightly, wiping off plates, but Matthew has left the room. I narrow my eyes at the door to the back rooms, expecting some kind of prank to come from it, but when Matthew reenters the room, it's not to deliver a dramatic prank.

"Here," he gave me a small piece of straps and wood. His beloved slingshot. I glance at him, surprised. He only ever gave me one lesson – saying that it was an ability everyone should know. But I knew that he only taught me because he worried about me – after all, he was my older brother, even if only by a few seconds.

"Why are you giving me –"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Just a feeling that you'll need something to defend yourself."

"Like…like I'm in danger?"

Matthew narrowed his eyes at me, and I felt the click inside of me, too. Maybe it was one of those weird twin things, but I had a feeling that I really _was_ in danger. And Matthew was too. I blinked, and looked at the slingshot. One of each of our hands were still gripping it. Both of our knuckles were white.

"Take it," Matthew let go, and I held the slingshot tight. If I was thinking correctly, we were in great danger, and the slingshot wasn't going to help. Still…it was better to go into something serious with a badly crafted, simple weapon than nothing at all.

Silently, I turned, and left the house, leaving Auntie and Matthew behind, and clutching both the slingshot and Leah close.

Later, Leah and I are completely washed and dressed in our best, clean dressed. My own is baby blue, simple and to my knees. I tell Leah that we match and she giggles slightly. We sit by the stream, and I try to push away the nagging sense that I'm in danger, because it's absolutely absurd. How can I be in danger here, in the forest, surrounded by my animal friends?

I entertain Leah by having each animal approach her, sit on her shoulder, lick her face, rub against her knees. Rarely have I ever seen her so happy – giggling in the grass as the animals of the forest walk around her. Seeing her so happy makes me want to be happy too, but the nagging thought forbids it, and I keep looking around the familiar forest, as if scared that it will turn into the dark one from my dream.

But it doesn't, and I try to enjoy the hours I spend beside the stream with Leah. All too soon, it seems, we are leaving the forest, and walking toward the town square, where the Reapings will be held. I get a knot in my throat at this point, wondering who will go next, and if it will be me, Matthew, or Leah.

I see Auntie standing with the other adults, and I wave, but she doesn't wave back. I think that maybe she didn't see me, which is okay. She'll know I'm here. We are required to be here. We have no choice…about anything, really.

Leah and I find Matthew, who is standing with his fists balled, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. I know why. I can feel it too, deep in my blood. It's getting stronger now. Matthew and I are in serious danger.

I glance up at the glass balls and the horrible thought strikes me. What if Matthew and I…? But the thought is too horrible to finish. I shudder and glance away, at Matthew, whose eyes are also fixed on the giant glass balls. I know he is having the same thought. I grip Leah's hand so tightly, I'm not sure that her blood is circulating. But she doesn't complain.

Eventually, the extremely small Capitol man, Velveteen, steps onto the stage, speaking to the mayor. Like the rest of the people from the Capitol, he has that ridiculous accent that drives the people from the districts insane. If I tried, I am sure that I can hear what he is saying, but the anxiety is getting to me. I'm sure that I'm pale, and I'm shaking all over.

Matthew and I are just thirteen. We wouldn't be competitors. We would simply be dead.

I grip the slingshot tightly, and Matthew's hand finds it too. I feel as if the simple slingshot holds us together – binds us in our worry, our anxiety, and the feeling…the feeling that we're both in danger…

We don't listen to the mayor's speech. We don't listen until Velveteen reads out the name of the female tribute. At this point, my knees are hitting each other as I shake. _Please_ I think _Oh, please, oh please!_

"Leah Brown."

I stare, openmouthed in amazement, as Leah, expression blank as ever, walks through the crowd and onto the stage.

"You are Leah Brown?" Velveteen seeks to confirm.

Leah only nods.

"Please, let us hear your lovely voice," Velveteen smiles, not realized the hurt in his question. I glance at Matthew, and understanding is in his eyes. He knows what I have to do. I release my stiff fingers from the slingshot, and shoot my hand into the air.

"I volunteer!" I call, before anyone can figure out that Leah is mute; that she will never speak a word in her life.

Velveteen turns to me, a huge grin on that completely stupid, naïve face. "And your name is…?"

"Tara Goldsteed," I tell him quietly, ushering Leah back into the crowd of people, where she can hide her face from the cameras. I, however, straighten up, pushing my long red hair out of my face, and stare at Velveteen, who continues to smile.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he says happily, and turns to the boy's ball. "Gentlemen!"

My eyes close one the slip lying directly at the top. Somehow, I know that Matthew's name is on it. I watch Velveteen pick it up, and open it carefully. My heart leaps into my throat. I can't do this. I can't kill my own twin.

"Matthew Goldsteed."

Matthew walks slowly up to join me. I notice that he has put the slingshot away, out of sight. Velveteen bustles over, and looks at our interlocked hands. "Is this a sister-brother team?" he asks gleefully.

"Twins," Matthew and I say at the same time, with none of the glee that Velveteen shows.

"Well, well, then!" Velveteen says. "This is sure to be in –" he brakes off because a hand is waving wildly over the crowd.

"I volunteer!" calls a voice. Surprised, I blink, trying to make out the person offering, but I can't until he reaches the stage. Again, I blink, surprised. In front of me is a boy with black hair and green eyes, tall, and around sixteen years old. He makes me feel extremely short. But there's one thing that makes him seem very odd to me.

I don't know him.

I know almost everyone in the district. It is an odd thing for me to come upon someone I don't know. But even weirder is the fact that he just volunteered to participate in the Hunger Games for my brother.

I glance over at Matthew, hoping to see a flash of recognition in his eyes, but I see only the blank, confused look I have.

"What's your name?" Velveteen looks comically short next to the boy with the black hair. Even I am a head taller than him.

"My name is Tori Dawn," the boy has a deep voice that is too old for him. I blink at him again. Normally I can easily figure people out, but…this Tori Dawn was different. I just don't…get him like I get everyone else.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Velveteen glances at Matthew, and shooes him off the stage. "Off you go now, boy. You're spotlight's been stolen."

I am tempted to snap at Velveteen for saying such things to my brother, but I am glad to see him leave the stage. He doesn't need to be on the cameras any longer than he has to. I see him stop at the front, by Leah, staring at Tori Dawn, the boy who has saved his life.

But…why?

"Ladies and gentlemen, you're district tributes!"

I glance toward Tori, hoping that he will give me a hint as to why he would do such a thing, but he won't meet my eyes. Maybe that's a good thing; considering us being on camera at the moment. With that, I cross my arms and try to look tough as I glance in the direction of a camera, but I am sure that I don't look so tough in my eyes.

Because inside, I'm terrified.


	3. Alone

They put me in a room with black leather furnishings, and bright red walls. For a moment, I can only stare blankly at the dark design, but a thought occurs to me: _This is the place of darkness and blood. I am going into the place of darkness and blood._

Auntie comes in, sobbing hysterically. We hug tightly the whole time, while she tries to make out words, but she can't. She's too upset. I had known that she'd be like this, and am prepared for it. Right as the Peacekeepers are ushering her out, she hands me the half-eaten pie from the morning. I accept it and smile down at it. The morning has never seemed so far away…

While Auntie exits, some of my animal friends (from both the forest and the pastures, I can tell) force their way into the room. Looking a little bit frightened, Peacekeepers come in to usher them out, but I wave them away. Slowly, they back out of the room, looking completely terrified of the girl with a snake around her neck, birds in her hair, mosquitoes on her hand, and a puma in her lap. Part of me feels grim satisfaction at this. I'm in the Hunger Games now. I _need_ to be terrifying.

Matthew walks in and sits beside me, not looking twice at the animals around me. He takes my hand that isn't supporting the tame mosquitoes, and I squeeze it. We don't say much – what is there to say when we already understand each other perfectly.

I can't win the Hunger Games. I'll be dead before the first day it done. I'll never come home again. I'll never see Auntie again. Or Leah. Or Matthew.

Matthew would have met the same fate, if not for the boy with black hair, Tori Dawn. But why would he do such a thing? We don't know him. Does he know us? Our parents, maybe, before the sickness took them? Does he want to save their son?

Whatever the answer, I'm grateful. After all, he has saved my brother's life. Even if my own is doomed, that is something.

"Matthew," I grip him by the shoulders, the mosquitoes flying off, and forcing him to look into my eyes. "Promise me that you won't do anything stupid."

Matthew manages a small smile. "Stupid? Me?"

I shake him slightly. "I'm serious. Capitol people are going to want to interview you and Auntie – looking for things to turn against me."

"I won't let them."

I shake my head. "Let me finish. You can't tell them anything, but you can't attack them either." Matthew begins a heated response, but I shake my head. "No, Matthew. I can't have it out that I have a crazy twin."

Matthew stares at me a moment. "But I'm not crazy!"

"Good," I let go of him, dusting my hands off. "Now, just remember that, and we're good."

Matthew stares at me the rest of his visit, trying to figure me out, but I know that he won't. I have tried, for years, to understand myself, and have never succeeded. I have described myself as a bottomless pit of a person, deep and well concealed, so that one can only see what is on top.

When Matthew leaves, he says only one thing. He doesn't request that I win the Hunger Games, because he knows that I can't do it. Instead, he simply asks, his eyes watering slightly,

"Come home soon," Matthew says.

"I – I'll try," I tell him, knowing that I won't. That I can't. That it's impossible.

But I can't tell Matthew this. I can only watch as my brother is whisked out of sight, leaving me feeling quite alone.

The panther, still in my lap, lifts her majestic head to gaze at me with soft green eyes; those of the mother looking at her children. I look at her for what she is; a huntress, proud and skilled, able to take control with dignity and ease.

"If you were going into the Hunger Games," I tell her quietly, "you'd win. I wish that I was half the being you are."

The panther lowers her head back into my lap, and I stroke her back as Leah comes in, sitting beside me.

She doesn't say a word; she never has – probably never will. But it's then, sitting with her, that I realize what's coming. That the full reality sinks in. I'm going to die. And in the next week or two. I begin to cry hysterically, burying my face in Leah's shoulder. She pats my back softly, as if she had expected nothing more. This thought makes me cry even more.

_Weakling,_ a voice inside me jars. _Child. You'll never win. You'll never see your family or friends again. You'll die._ I want to think that the voice is wrong, but it's completely right. As the tears spill down my cheeks, I imagine each one as a goodbye.

Eventually, I pull away from Leah, sniffling out the last tears, and she smiles slightly at me, gesturing for me to wipe my tears away. I do so silently, and look around to see the animals in front of me, looking at me in what seemed to be concern.

Leah's baby blue eyes light up when she looks at the panther, and looks at me as if wanting permission. I nod, and she pets the panther gently. The panther glances up at her, her eyes saying, _You're not the regular girl,_ but decides that it doesn't matter, and puts her head back on her paws.

"She likes you," my voice sounds under-used, but I don't care. Seeing the panther and Leah together gives me an idea, and I sit up, suddenly determined.

"Leah," I said. She looks at me slightly, her hand stopping petting the panther momentarily. "will you take care of the animals?"

Leah looks at me a moment, smiles, and nods eagerly.

"Auntie will continue to feed them," I told her, "and I'm sure that Matthew will help you if you ever need it."

Leah nods again, and hugs the panther, who looks only slightly annoyed by this. She gives me a look that says, _I will take care of them well._

And then the Peacekeepers escort Leah out. The animals each touch my cheek, and then follow Leah, their new friend. When the door closes, it lets out an ominous loud slamming noise, and I shudder.

For now I am truly alone.

The train has the same décor as the room where I had said my goodbyes did. It renews my sense of aloneness and fear. Velveteen escorts me to my room with a happy smile.

"...and the Gamemakers are really a rather brilliant group this year. I think we can count on an exciting Games this year and – ah, yes, here we are. Your room, of course." And, with a great flourish, he opened the door, allowing me to look inside.

The room has red walls, rugs, and bedclothes, and black furniture and lights. I blink at it wearily, and turn to Velveteen, who has continued his rant about the brilliance of the Gamemakers this year.

"Aren't there any rooms that aren't furnished in black and red?" I ask him, a bit impatiently.

"What?" he asked, looking at me a moment, his mind still in his conversation. "Oh, yes – the décor. Why? Don't you like it?"

"No, I don't," I tell him bluntly. "It's a bit...dramatic, don't you think?"

He grins. "This is the Hunger Games. It's supposed to be dramatic, sweetie."

_Sweetie?_ I think indignantly, but I hold my tongue. Velveteen is our guide to the Capitol – which is a foreign planet to me. He can help me a lot, but only if I'm nice. So I smile sweetly at his head (which is at my chest).

"Yes, I see what you mean. So, I'll see you at dinner?"

Velveteen nods and smiles. "In an hour, okay, sweetie?"

"Okay," I am tempted to add 'shortie,' but I don't. Instead, I stride into the "dramatic" room, and plop down on the "dramatic" bed. I mentally check myself, unsure of how I feel, but I find nothing but numbness. But that's good, I tell myself, numbness is good. But this is a lie. I wonder, through the veil of numbness, if I have lost all feeling; all emotion. I wonder if I am now just another tribute – just another mindless killing machine.

This is the thought that shakes me awake, doubts spiking into my veins. No. I'm not going to let the Hunger Games do this to me. I am not going to do what the Capitol wants me to do – to kill the other children to get home alive. I'm not going to let the Games change me.

But it doesn't matter.

Either way, I'm never going home alive.

And, with that thought – that truth – the numbness washes over me again, and I am left in stupor.

The door opens, and Velveteen's face appears in the doorway. His face is slightly clouded with doubt, as though he isn't sure that he should be here. I look up at him dully as he manages, "Er, Tara, it's time for dinner. Did you...erm...forget?"

I lift my head to the clock before I remember that I can't read it. I shake myself again. What is going on with me?

"I..um...yeah, I forgot," I do my best at an apologetic smile as I stand from the bed and join Velveteen, who huffs impatiently and quickly turns, leading me to the dining room. I find the dining room to be even more gloomy than the rooms, because the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling casts dark shadows everywhere.

I sit down glumly at the empty chair, which I assume is mine. I look up and down the table in disbelief. There is enough food to feed my whole district a meal. I look around for people – there should be thousands, I think. But there are only Tori, Velveteen, myself, and the Petri Solace, the only living victor from District 10.

I know that Petri is as much a key to my survival as Velveteen. Petri will control the limits of my sponsors while in the arena. To put it bluntly, he is the key to my survival. So I decide to try to be friends with him.

"Petri Solace?" I ask, extending my hand to him. "I'm Tara Goldsteed."

Petri, who had had his face buried in what appears to be large amounts of strawberry clumps mixed with chocolate and whipped cream, looks at me for a long time. Then, he reaches up to his face and wipes away some chocolate with his napkin.

"I know who you are," he told me quietly.

"Y-you do?" I asked, withdrawing my hand.

"Of course," Petri laughed quietly. "You're the girl that walks around with the animals. You're the girl that the Peacekeepers are afraid of."

"Afraid of?" I asked, shocked and appalled. "How can you say such a thing? The Peacekeepers afraid of me?"

"Well," Petri says slowly. "I suppose not afraid of _you–_more of your animals, I suppose."

I laughed loudly despite myself. "Oh, yes. They don't like my friends. At my goodbyes..." but here I trailed off, because only saying the word brings back the thoughts of Matthew, Auntie Rose, and Leah.

Though he doubtlessly knew the reason for my silence, Petri was kind enough not to point me out. "Yes, you are rather intimidating when you walk around with a snake around your nest, birds in your hair, mosquitoes buzzing around you, hunting birds on your arms, and mammals walking all around."

"Y-y-y-y-you d-d-do w-what?" Velveteen stuttered

Petri, Tori, and I all laugh. "You see, Tara?" Tori laughs. "You are quite intimidating."

I laugh as well and make a little bow. We all laugh for a long time, and I begin to pile my plate with food. The laughter dies from my lips as I wonder if the people from the Capitol always eat so lavishly. Catching my gaze, Tori can only shake his head in disbelief.

We have small talk throughout the meal; nothing significant. Velveteen tells me and Tori that we will love the Capitol. Petri hardly talks at all. And Tori and I are too busy gorging ourselves on the food that we can't talk much.

The food is amazing. It is as good as Auntie Rose's food, but better. I know that Auntie would love this; that she would be asking the chef for the recipes. There is so much of it, I can eat until I'm completely full; a luxury I've never had. It is a bit difficult to find dishes without meat in it, but Velveteen is happy to help me.

When the meal is over, we all go to another cart that has a television in it, and sit down. It is only moments before the Reapings begin on the television.

Only a few tributes stand out to me. I pay special attention to the Careers this year – the ones from one are blonde and burly. The male from two looks like a pile of rocks, which his partner is smaller, leaner, and sly-looking. And the ones from four have black hair, green eyes, and determined faces.

I find myself having to go to the bathroom at the sight of them. They scare me so much. One of these people – _children_ – is likely to be the one to take my life.

Only two other tributes stand out to me. One is the girl from seven, who is...well...vertically challenged. She is (no joke) shorter than Velveteen. The other is the boy from eleven, whose eyes are blank and sightless. Just the sight of him makes me think of Leah, which brings tears to my eyes. I feel a stab of sympathy for these two. They will surely die. At least I have a...well, not _fair_ chance...but more equal.

When I glance over at Tori, I see that he has a notebook out. I try to glance at it, but the room is dark, and he is on the other side of the couch, with Petri between us. I assume he is taking notes on the names of the tributes, and any other information that he can. I feel a stab of regret, having remembered no names, and finding only 8 of the 22 significant. I should have gotten a notebook too. Maybe I should ask him if I can look at those notes...

But when the Reapings are over, Velveteen whisks me off to my room, and to bed. "Bright and early, tomorrow morning!" he tells me happily, and is gone in the next instant.

I stare around the bedroom for a moment, which, if possible, looks creepier at night than it does at day. The shadows make me fear what may be around the corner...lurking ahead...ready to jump out, and...

I have to stop thinking like this. It is going to drive me insane if I don't.

I try to stay calm. I take a bath, spending plenty of time trying out the different types of soap and whatnot. I let a machine brush my hair and teeth, and dry me instantly. Then I climb into bed, keeping calm, and trying to stay sane.

And if I slept with the lights on that night, that's nobody's business.


	4. Sanity

That night, I dream again of the dark and silence woods. But this time, I'm not alone. The deer that I had healed the day before is beside me. I am glad to see him; the sense of danger is dimmed by friendship. However, when we reach the part of the dream where the scream emits from the woods, it wasn't in the distance. The deer is the one who screams.

It happens quite suddenly. One moment, the deer is standing beside me, his wide dark eyes surveying the dark, silent clearing. The next, he is on the ground, withering and screaming a very human-like scream. I stagger back, letting out a cry, and covering my mouth with my hands. I instinctively reach out a hand, instinctively wanting to help him. But before I can, his eyes flash green for a moment, and he becomes still. The scream ends, though it continues to echo in my ears.

I stagger back again from the dead body, and turn and run from the horrible dream of death. I dart between the trees, trying to hide from death, but suddenly the forest seems much more open; harder to hide in. Quite suddenly, I realize that this is Death's domain.

I skid to a stop at a sight that makes my heart stop. Lying, dead, on the ground before me is the panther that had been amongst the animals sitting with me when I had said my goodbyes. I remember thinking her to be a great huntress, calm, cool, and collected. I remember thinking that she would survive no matter what. And here she is before me. Dead.

I turn away quickly, running away, though I know it is fruitless; that if the deer and the panther are dead, I shall soon be too. But that doesn't stop me from running; running far, far from this madness.

The shadows envelope me. I gaze around at the dark branches of the black trees. These aren't the live trees I know; the ones I can trust. These trees would just as soon as kill me. I slip on a root of a tree, and tumble onto the slippery ground. For a moment, I can only sit there; until I wonder why the ground is wet and glance down.

The ground is covered in blood.

I wake gasping in bed, covered in hot, sticky sweat, and, for a moment, I can't distinguish reality from dream. For a moment, I mistake the red walls to be bathed in blood, and the sweat for my own. The dark furniture I mistake for shadows and black foliage. I am surely in the arena. I am surely dying . . . or am I already dead?

Panic envelops me; closing tightly around me neck, making my breaths come in quick, bone-shuttering gasps. Blinded by panic, I push away the bloody blanket and stand. I can feel the fear gripping my brain; numbing it. I begin to spin around, looking desperately for a way out. But wherever I turn, I can see only darkness and blood.

Then, like a becon, there is a bit of white in the otherwise dark and bleak world. I stop turning, facing the white and standing taller. It's as though seeing something bright and pure brings purpose to me. I must be staring at some higher being . . . an angel . . . a god . . .

"Tara"

My first thought is that the Great Being knows my name, and that I must bow to it. But something holds me back. Something in the tone of the Being's voice . . .

"Tara"

I don't recognize the tone immediately, familiar as it sounds. Mistaking it for anger, I quickly begin to kneel, but the Being walks towards me. I freeze in fear as the Being puts its hands on my shoulders.

"Tara"

I want to weep for the existence of such a noble creature in a dark and dreary world. I want to live in the joy of my happiness. . . to drown in my own happy tears. . .

"Tara"

It is only then that I recognize the familiar tone in the being's voice. It is fear.

The fear highlights the darkness and blood in the room. I feel the panic rush back in and feel the blood pump quick through my veins. I begin to back away from the Being, confusion filling my mind along with the fear and blind panic.

"Tara! Wake up!"

The room is beginning to swirl again when the feeling gives way in my cheek. With it comes stinging, and sense returns. I blink several times, trying to make sense of the world around me. I am just in the dramatically décored room. The walls are not bloodstained. There are no looming, dark shadows. I am not in the arena. I am not dead.

Yet.

The Great White Being I had imagined. For the figure standing before me is Tori.

"Tara?" he smiles an embarrassed, nervous smile. "Are you back?"

Suddenly tired, I sit on the bed and bury my face in my hands. For a moment there, I was insane. Completely insane. Back at home, the people would have killed me before I could do something stupid; something I might regret if I returned to my senses. It is unnerving, to know that if I were home right now, I'd be dead. It is unnerving to know that I know how those people felt . . . in fact. . . if I just blinked. . .

I moan. Am I sane now? Do all the insane go through this? Do all tributes? Or am I alone? It takes me several moments to remember that Tori is there. Remembering his unanswered question, I raise my head slightly, and say,

"I think so."

We stand there a moment, eyes locked. I think I see my confusion and desperation in those deep green eyes. Does he understand the war waging inside of me? Can he possibly know? Either way, I feel compelled to say something to him; to thank him, somehow, for bringing me back. If not for him. . . .well, I didn't even want to think of that.

I open my mouth to say the words, but they don't come out. My brain is blank; I can't think of the right words to say to him. My lips refuse to form the words. And, before I can break the spell, Tori is nodding to me, and backing out of the door. His eyes never leave mine, and he never shows his back. In his eyes, still, is the fear. I realize that he is scared of me. He is scared I am insane and will do something stupid; like try to kill him.

When Tori has backed out of sight, I lay back down. Somehow, the blankets just make me think of blood, and I don't slide under their inviting warmness. Instead, I simply lay upon their soft tops, and carefully assess myself.

Am I insane? I most definitely don't feel insane. Would I know if I am insane? I'm not sure. I very well could still be insane, and simply not know it. But if I am insane, does that mean that I can't be in the Hunger Games? Hope fills me for an instant before I realize that the Gamemakers won't care. They don't care about us. They only care for a good fight from us before we die. They have put disabled kids in the Games before.

I feel so completely alone. Never before in living memory had I gone so long without true company, be it only a spider of a centipede. That short meeting with Tori didn't count. We had hardly exchanged three words apiece, and there was no friendship in the other's gaze. But there was no hatred either, I realized, which was something. One day soon, I'd meet the other tributes, and I was sure not to like them all.

Besides, Tori had saved my brother's life by volunteering for him. I still don't understand this. I had volunteered to Leah, but the poor girl was mute! And what's more, she is my friend. Whereas, Tori hadn't even known Matthew, who wasn't disabled at all, except by age. I feel a strong bond of gratitude to Tori because of it; friendship, even. The simple thought of friendship warms my heart, but it doesn't last.

Because in the end, if I want to get home, I'll have to kill him. But how can I, when he saved Matthew from this horrible fate? Deep down, I know I never will kill any of the tributes; not on purpose, at least, and definitely not Tori. I am no killer, and I don't plan on letting the Games make me one. I am not going to play the Gamemaker's hand.

"Tara, honey?"

I sit up to see Velveteen standing by the door. His clothes are crisp and colorful, and he stands with his hands behind his back, like some sort of coiffure. Which, I realize, he was. Glad to know that he is dressing the part. Because I care so much.

"Velveteen," I lay back down.

"Breakfast, honey, okay?"

"Sure."

I hear the rustling of his pant legs, and I know that Velveteen has left my room. I lay on the bed a moment, closing my eyes as well as my mind, determined to simply rest for awhile. But I found it impossible, and gave up with a sigh, standing. I looked down at the blue dress that came from home; the one that I still had on. It seemed so long ago that Leah and I had sat at the river, with the animals all around us. . .

The dress is now dirty with dirt and sweat from the dream. I don't want to take it off, but I know I must. Appearance is everything now. So I carefully take off the dress and fold it, putting it carefully on the dresser. I don't know what will happen to it now. But somehow, I hope it finds its way home, and not to a bonfire.

I search the drawers of the dresser, but find only crazy capitol outfits. These, I think, are fit for only the insane. I end up putting on a pair of brown pants that aren't _too_ bedazzled, and a tunic top that is dark blue and embroidered in gold. Like pure gold. In a top. Unbelievable. And this is one of the least elaborate tops. If I could sell the clothes in this room, I could use the money to feed my family and friends for years.

Shaking my head in complete disbelief, I don the clothes, and exit the room. In the dining room, I sit beside Petri, and stare at the extravagant food and dining ware. At night, this was one thing. In daylight, it seemed more spectacular. More expensive. More _dramatic._ The fortune of the plates alone . . . it could feed my whole district for a week.

I'm disgusted, but I find myself eating anyway. The food is so delicious, it clears away all thought. When I'm done eating, I find myself wanting more. This cooking is worthy to rival Auntie Rose's. When I simply can't eat anymore, I listen to Velveteen say what "a very berry very egg-citing day!" it was going to be. Apparently, he was into breakfast puns. I didn't laugh at a single one. Neither did Petri or Tori, but Velveteen chuckled at each one, apparently thinking himself hilarious.

I couldn't bring myself to look Tori throughout the meal. I had a feeling that if I looked at him; just saw his face; that I'd lose my sanity again. I got the feeling that he felt the same way, because he didn't try to look at me, either.

"Tori," Petri interrupted Velveteen halfway through the meal. "can I see that notebook?"

I risked a glance at Tori, who didn't meet my gaze. He simply nodded and handed Petri the notebook that he had filled with notes last night during the Reapings recap. I gazed over Petri's shoulder and saw pages filled with neat notes on each tribute, each one having its own page. Petri stops on the girl from two; the one who, unlike her bury district partner, was smaller and sly-looking. I carefully read the notes that Tori had taken on her.

'_Alexis Brown – goes by Alex, she said. District 2, female. 17 years old. Average height, brown hair and eyes. Looks fit; been trained? Sly-looking. Do not trust. Does not seem particularly attached to district partner, Rodger Davis. Weaknesses? Big ego.'_

I almost laugh aloud. He nailed the girl perfectly. I shoot him an approving glance, and he looks away quickly, embarrassed. I look back down at the book, watching as Petri flips through the pages. I stop him when he reaches District Seven. Despite myself, I want to see what Tori thinks of the vertically challenged girl.

'_Roweena Tailsman. District 7, female. Vertically challenged – size of a seven year old. Really 15 years old. Despite shortness, looks proud and like she could give a good bruise if you bother her. Not particularly strong. May put up a good fight.'_

_May put up a good fight . . . _ I hated that sentence. Is that what people thought of me? Did they think me a force to be reckoned with? Or did they dismiss me as one to die of an early death? I suddenly feel very close to Roweena, and I promise myself that I will speak to her during training. Who knows? It could very well lead to a profitable alliance.

I can't believe I just thought that. My mind is working just as the Gamemakers want it to. I'm thinking of temporary alliances that might benefit me, and of those I know I will have to face and fight; live or die; such as Alex Brown, the sly girl from two. I shudder and let Petri flip on. I don't have to stop him at the right spot. He's interested in the boy too.

'_Jacob Turner. District 11, male. 16 years old. Blind. Can't see how he will fight or win. Guaranteed death unless he's hiding something that I can't see. Alliance would be fruitless.'_

_Alliance would be fruitless . . ._ I find myself disagreeing with Tori at this point. All alliances are benefitial, surely. And . . . Jacob and Roweena make me think of Leah. I find myself wanting to meet them; not wanting to kill them. Somehow, I just know that I will benefit either way. But I want Tori as an ally too, if he'll have me. He saved my brother's life. The bond of friendship I still feel with him. I know I won't be able to kill him.

I look away from the book, to the ceiling. The large gold and diamond chandelier twinkles grimly at me, reflecting the red and black of the room. Bile rises in my throat as I think of the morning. But that's not going to happen again. I am going to die in these Games, certainly. But I'm going out my way. As me. Not the person the Gamemakers are trying to make me.

I sit there a while, staring defiantly at the chandelier, arms crossed, until it occurs to me to look up something else in Tori's notebook. I sit up to see that it is lying on the table in front of me. I pick it up and carefully thumb through the pages until I get to the right page.

'_Tori Dawn. District 10, male. 16 years old. Black hair and green eyes. Smart? Kind of. Good with weapons? Kind of. Fast? Kind of. Confused? 100%'_

I stare at Tori's brief description of himself. I think that I understand how he feels. I'm not really good with much (but for people/animal skills). If there's one word I could use to describe me right now, it wouldn't be burly, like the boy from 2 and the boy and girl from 1. It wouldn't be sly like Alex from 2. It wouldn't be short, like Roweena from 7. It wouldn't be blind like the boy from 11, Jacob. It would be confused, like Tori.

Curious, I let my gaze slip to the next page. On it were emblazoned the words:

'_Tara Goldsteed. District 10, female. 13 years old, though she looks at least 14. Good people skills – this extends to animals. Known well to tame any living thing, from mosquitoes to hawks to pumas to mute girls at school. Intimidating. Good marks, near perfect. Healing skills – used on hurt animals. Near perfect marks in school. Won several school races. Does not eat meat, and is not very strong. Ally?'_

I close the notebook slowly, and, tuning out Velveteen's comment about how we should be so "grape-ful" about the good food look at Tori, who again won't meet my eyes. How does he know so much about me? Hardly anyone knows my grades, apart from Auntie and myself. Of course, I had won a few foot-races, and that was pretty common information. I suppose that he could have seen animals in casts and bandages, and assume that I had done so, but how was he certain? As for not eating meat, that too could be found out. But as for my not being so strong. . . I look down at my arms. Is it really so obvious?

All the same, it seems no coincidence that for no apparent reason, Tori volunteered for the Hunger Games, saving my brother's life, and that he appears to have been keeping tabs on me my whole life. I find it startling, and stare at him a long moment, hoping his face will become suddenly familiar. But it doesn't. I still don't recognize him from anywhere.

I slowly put the notebook back on the table. Tori, without looking at me, reaches out and grabs it. He removes it from the table and sits it on his lap. For a split second, he meets my eyes, and I can only think that those eyes hold so much confusion and secrets, before he looks away.


	5. The Silliness of the Capitol

I can only stare in utter bewilderment at my prep team as they rush around me, making me hairless and pink as a baby. They are, hands down, the weirdest things I have ever seen in my life. One, Vince, has his hair fanning out around him like a waterfall, and flowing blue clothes to match. Another, Crystal, the only female amongst them as far as I can tell, is wearing clothes that are completely made of diamonds and crystals that throw off the light in blinding rainbows. The last, Sabin, dresses himself in violent shades of orange and pink. They all spoke in stupid, over-extravagant accents and tones, calling me "dear," "sweetie," "honey," and "pumpkin" as Velveteen does.

I let them file my nails, strip me of hair, pluck my eyebrows, and take the many baths they think will ensure that I am germ-free. They remove me of every blemish I have, making me look even more like a baby. I smell of every known tropical fruit, and the scent is so strong I find myself coughing every time I breathe in. But when Sabin picks up scissors and brings them to my hair, I stop his hand. "No."

Sabin looks confused. I'm sure my hair looks completely disgusting to him. Why wouldn't I want it cut? "Tara," he says slowly, cautiously, "I must at least even the ends. I will do nothing more; not for now."

But I shake my head. "Do not touch my hair, please."

"But –"

"Sabin," I say his name quite threateningly, and he squeaks and jumps back. Immediately, I feel sorry. I am in a crabby mood this morning; the stress was getting to me. I am opening my mouth to apologize when Crystal says,

"Please, Tara. Your hair looks like a rat or a bird has made its nest in it. At least let us trim it for the time being."

I chuckle slightly at Crystal's words. If only she knew . . . "No, I'll keep it the way it is for now," I tell them. "I shall talk to my stylist about this further. You may, however, brush it."

Grumbling slightly about how messy and tangled and uneven my hair was, they brush it carefully and well, so that its silky lengths run further than ever. I am surprised to find that, when fully brushed out, its length ran all the way to my rear.

When my hair is done being brushed, the prep team announces me to look "near-human." They hurry off to go and fetch my stylist. I sit in front of the mirror and run my finger through my hair, staring at my reflection. I know it's silly, but somehow, I cannot bear to be parted with it. Birds have rested on it for too long; and I have my mother's hair. My auntie always tells me that she wore it as I do; long and loose; free with the wind.

Tears come to my eyes as I think of Auntie. Has she made another pie for this morning? Did she and Matthew eat the whole thing? Or did they leave a piece on a plate, uneaten, waiting for me? And what about Leah? Is she with them? Or is she with the animals, helping them now that I can't? Now that I never will?

I hope they are all well. I hope that they aren't missing me too much. I hope they still have hope that I will come home. I hope, for their sake, when my body comes back, it isn't in a gruesome state. I hope I look as I do in life. I hope. . .

There I was again, thinking those stupid thoughts. I had to have hope. After all, if I didn't have hope . . . what did I have? Nothing; that's the answer. I barely have anything now.

The door closes with a smart click. I turn, expecting to see my prep team, but they aren't there. Only my stylist is. She is tall, with chin-length brown hair and warm brown eyes. Her clothes look slightly less extravagant than the prep team's. Her clothes (shirt and pants) are flowing and elegant, and change from warm color to warm color with the light. I find myself standing as I look at her.

"Hello, Tara," she says to me, extending a hand. "I am Morella Silverope."

Morella and I sit down to another extravagant meal, and I begin to ravenously eat again. I realize with a shock that I could easily get used to this kind of lifestyle. Morella, as she says she prefers to be called, doesn't eat much, and it occurs to me that she wants to keep her slim frame.

When I'm not stuffing my face, Morella and I discuss myself over the meal. I tell her about Auntie, Matthew, and Leah. I tell her about my animal friends, and how they scare the Peacekeepers. I find that it feels good to pour out all this information to her; to get it out of my system. But when I come to talking about Tori, I hesitate. I don't understand him at all. Should I confuse Morella with these trying mysteries, too? I decide not to, and instead ask, "So, what about you?"

Morella smiles. "I am not married. I say I am married to my job. I love, more than anything, to be designing clothes."

"Are you any good?" I blurt out, desperate, because she will make the person who the Capitol sees. Because the Capitol will only see me on the outside, not the inside.

Morella laughs. "I'll let you decide. Come." She extends a hand to me. I hesitate only a moment before accepting it. She leads me into a separate room that is filled with gowns and costumes all designed according to District 10. I see wolves and birds and hogs. As amazingly lifelike they all are, my district regards them as mocking; insulting to our profession. I can't stand to look at them.

"This is my first year with District 10," Morella tells me, fingering the silky gown of a graceful cow. So, thus, all of these gowns are of my predecessor's making. Let's see. . ." she pulls out the gown of a donkey and holds it up in front of me, as though imagining me wearing it. "This was made for Sydina Fox, tribute of District 10 some . . . 13 years ago."

The year I was born. I fight nausea as I look at the gown worn by the tribute that had died in the arena. Sydina's ghost seems to cling to it. I have never been a superstitious person, but, looking at the gown, I find the idea of ghosts very real, and very terrifying. Apparently oblivious to my thoughts, Morella goes on,

"Fine gown, isn't it? You know, sometimes we designer take an old gown and modify it to make it our own. It saves time, you know. This . . . looks about your size, does it not?"

My breath catches in my throat as she says these words. Morella wants me to wear the gown of a dead tribute? How could I. . .? It is wrong; disrespectful to Sydina Fox's memory. I like Morella; especially for a person of the Capitol, but if she asks me to wear this gown, I'll have to refuse her.

But Morella must've seen the horror in my gaze because she laughs and puts the gown back, and leads me further into the room. "Of course," she continues "I, unlike other stylists, enjoy making the fit the tribute. To do so, I do not reuse gowns." Morella smiles, no doubt hearing my sigh of relief. "Furthermore, I enjoy making the first gown, that for the chariot, with the tribute themselves. I feel it brings . . . life to the outfit. Thus," we reach the end of the room, which is filled with fabric and needles and thread. I stare about me completely lost in this other world, and miss Morella's next words. It's not until she turns to study me that I snap back to reality.

"Well now," Morella says briskly, glancing away to the plentiful rolls of fabric. "tell me, what colors do you best enjoy?"

I smile slightly at this question. It brings back memories of home. "The color of the bark on the trees, and the squirrels that nest in them. The color of water gurgling over pebbles, and the brilliance of the sky on a clear day, with the pure white of the clouds against them. The twinkling silver stars of night, with their mother, the moon, shining with them. The green of moss on the ground, lizards on rocks, and the leaves rustling in the trees. The radiance of the reds and pinks and oranges and golds of the sunset and sunrise. The pink of a newborn child as it looks into its mother's loving eyes. The brown freckles dotting the tan on my brother's face. The way his blue eyes sparkle when he's doing something wrong. The bushiness of my aunt's red face, and the green, loving glow that shines from her eyes. The twinkling blue eyes and white-blonde hair of my friend Leah, that can tell me much more than her voice can. The soft, simple hues of butterflies and the golden sun that smiles down on them. . ." I trail off, embarrassed. For a moment, I was far, far away, back at home on a normal day. How happy I'd been. . .

"That is beautiful," Morella whispers

"Thank you," I breathe back. For some reason, the hushed tone seems right. I can sense that Morella's mood has changed drastically, and with it, mine too.

"That, I believe, is the problem with the people of the Capitol," it suddenly clicks inside of me. Morella is scared of being overheard. "we have no imagination; no true love. Our social lives, our clothes, our hair; all this overshadows everything else. We do not love our children as you do. We do not love our friends as you do. We do not hate our enemies, of which we are too blind to see we have many. We are a dead people.

"Those of us who see past thus; those of us who see past the silliness. . . those of us who _feel_ and _know_. . . we are given special jobs. We run the country, though almost as blindly as the common people. We cannot change the way things are, for we are clueless. We are cowards, Tara," she laughed bitterly, "all of us; cowards. We run Panem as Gamemakers, stylists, and Presidents. We are too busy with our jobs to understand the truth; that we are wronging the districts. We are slaves, we leaders. Slaves leading the slaves."

I was astonished. How could she describe herself . . . how could she describe the President, herald of all of suffering, as a slave? "But. . . then. . . who is really in charge? Who leads the slaves leading the slaves?"

Marella nods gravely. "We are slaves, Tara, but of no human."

"What?"

Morella shudders and looks over her shoulder. "Tara, why do people eat animals?"

I answer immediately, for it is a question that I, being a vegetarian, have often pondered, "Out of habit, from days when it was necessary."

Marella nods. "Thus is so with the Capitol. Did you listen much in your 'History of Panem' class?"

I shake my head. "Load of rubbish, that class was."

"But in the beginning, you were taught the truth. 13 districts were needed to fuel the Capitol, the center of learning. At first, there was friendship, and sharing. The districts gave their goods, and the Capitol gave knowledge. In those days, we were not mindless. We understood the trade, and paid happily. People commonly moved from district to district or even to the Capitol. It wasn't uncommon for someone from the Capitol to go live in a district. Marriages happened between the districts and the Capitol.

"But then, the Capitol grew weary. It slowly began to look down on the districts, who didn't develop any technology for themselves. They slowly began to withhold information from the districts, believing they would wrongly use it. They believed it was nessassary. One thing led to another. . . and boom . . . here we are today, slaves to our own habits."

"Slaves to the past; to the lives we already live," I whisper, almost reverently, and Marella nods. "The Capitol doesn't want change. . ." I muse "but. . . the Districts do."

Marella chuckles. "Like I said, Tara, we are cowards who don't want anything to change. But you in the districts. . . you have the courage. . .but you don't want to live a life as the Capitol does, or am I wrong?"

I open my mouth to answer, but find it difficult. The districts want a better life for their children. But do they want to live like the Capitol? "No, we don't," I answer slowly. "but we don't want you to, either. We want a common ground, a place where all are equal."

"The Capitol shan't have the courage to do something that large; to break away from habit," Marella says softly.

What she's saying dawns on me. "You mean . . . the districts will change Panem. It's up to us to stand up to. . . you. We have to forge a new future."

Marella nods. "You are our only hope."

"And we are being killed off for sport in the Games," I say. Marella flinches, as if hurt that I brought up the subject. But she nods. "Yes, you are."

I stare at her a while, and then, quite suddenly, say, "So. . . what color should the gown be?"

Marella jumps on the return to clothes. She begins to whip out fabrics and show me.

Over the next few hours, Marella and I choose fabrics, cutting out lengths, and studying small, crystal beads, and lines of thread. I am truly surprised how much Marella _does_ want me to look good in the parade; but not only good to the Capitol, but the Districts as well. She also cares about my past life; continuing to ask questions about Matthew, Leah, Auntie, and my animal friends. Soon we are joking like sisters.

When I confess how confused I have been of late, Marella smiles knowingly. "We all are, Tara," she says soothingly. "you'll understand soon. I promise."

I can only shrug in response. I'm not sure I will understand. "I hope you're right, Marella. I really, really, do."


	6. The Tributes

When the dress is done, Morella and I stand before it, studying it for imperfections. Of course, we find none. "Well?" Morella finally asks.

"It's perfect," I assure her with a smile.

Morella calls the prep team, who bustle in with their silly words and extravagant attitudes that so amazed and annoyed me before. How silly there are! I have a hard time imagining a whole population of them. But somehow, my time alone with Morella has soothed me somewhat, pushing back the frustrating emotions that I have been dealing with, and leaving me quite peaceful. I am now able to look at the prep team for what they are; silly children.

They gape at my outfit for a long time, and are soon screeching their approvals. Slightly amused, I allow them to lead me to a chair, and close my eyes. I felt brushes brushing across my face, applying makeup. I asked for little – just enough to play at my strengths.

Then they have me stand, and slip on the dress. The inside is silky, upon my request. It is much more comfortable than wool. I might as well enjoy the comfort while I can. I start to open my eyes, but the prep team shrieks at me to keep them closed; that I must wait to see the final result. I oblige, still feeling amused.

I step into shoes – simple flats, also by my request. I've never worn heels before, and I don't want to fall down in front of the Capitol in them. That wouldn't help my appearance or my getting sponsors.

There is some shuffling, and straightening of my dress. Then silence. I stand there, nervously frozen. Do I look horrible in this dress? Will Morella have to make one herself – one worthy of Capitol-making? Then, out of the darkness, Morella's voice says,

"Open your eyes."

I do so slowly, slightly scared, almost, of what I may see. When I do, I let out a gasp. In the mirror is Tara Goldsteed. . . at her finest. I designed this dress, so that I would look like _me_ in it, and I do. But never before has the world seen Tara Goldsteed as this.

I stand there, with darker eyebrows and rosier cheekbones, tall and proud. My outfit – from flats to chest, is beaded with beads that I can't even see. It is specially designed to catch the light and make the images beaded onto it move. On me is the wild. With every move, waves splash onto the bank, horses gallop, leaves rustle, and clouds move.

I gape at myself a moment. The only part of the dress that looks. . . human is my hair. I was right to keep it messy. It falls about me, uneven and silky. It, to me should. . . the _wildness_ of nature. It is something that the Capitol shall not understand. They may try to tame me, and they may succeed, but I will always be one of the wilderness.

But how could they understand? They have never seen a moss-filled damp cave at twilight, or sunlight glittering through the leaves in the trees, or felt the wind lift you up. . . so that you can almost take off in flight. They have probably never even seen a tree. I know I haven't since we arrived. They won't – _can't_ understand. But the districts will.

"I like it," I say finally "a lot." I turn and hug Morella. "Thank you."

"Of course," Morella waves me off, and studies me. "Let's show the prep team our one last trick." She winks. "Spin for us!"

I begin slowly, so that the animals and wind and water crawl. Then quick, and quicker, so that they are running. I hear oohs and aahs, so I know the dress has changed from day to night. But I don't stop to share their amazement. I just keep spinning, faster and faster and faster. The world is a blur, so I close my eyes, and spread my arms.

The prep team loses it, screaming delight over the dress. I, too, am delighted, childishly, laughing and spinning until I'm falling over. Morella, who is laughing too, supports me over to a chair. I sit there for a long time, laughing until my mind-numbing laughs change to gasps to chuckles to giggles. Eventually, I stop. The prep team, still chuckling heartily, adjust my dress. I look to Morella for guidance.

"It's time," she confirms.

I stand, suddenly nervous. All thoughts of laughter are erased from my brain. I straighten my dress, which isn't necessary, because I only mess up the prep team's perfection. Quickly, they fix it, scolding me to leave it alone.

Morella takes my hand and leads me to a door that blends with the wall. I hadn't noticed it there before. She looks me in the eyes, and says, "You are sensational. Believe it, and they will know." Then she kisses my forehead, opens the door, and gently pushes me out.

When I glance over my shoulder, the door is gone. There is no handle I can grab to return. To return is the only thing I want right now... because now I am standing with the other tributes.

They are scattered about, mostly by their carriages, alone. The Careers are in a group by the District 2 carriage. The tributes from 1 manage to look delicate and strong in their jewel-encrusted outfits. The girl is even giggling – a completely different side of her that I didn't see at the Reapings. District 2's outfits don't change the fact that they look like rocks. The girl from District 4, Alex, is scowling at her graceful fish outfit, while her partner looks too stupid to realize where he is.

The rest of the tributes, myself included, seem intimidated by them. They all don't dare look that way, and simply stare at their shoes, or the ceiling, or the carriages. I look around for Tori, because he's not by the District 10 carriage, but don't see him anywhere. He must still be with his stylist. I walk over to the District 10 carriage, feeling extremely self-concious. I can feel the stares of most of the tributes, all wondering the same things I wonder of them, _What is her name? Why is she here? What's her story? Will she be the one to kill me?_

The Gamemakers may be clueless now – silly and stupid, as Morella says – but when the Games were made, they must have been very clever; very clever indeed. For, just as they would want, each of us are scared and willing to do whatever it takes to get home; to live in peace. We almost _want _to kill each other now; simply to get it over with.

I look for the short girl, Roweena Tailsman, but I don't see her. She, too must be with her stylist. But the blind boy, Jacob Turner, is sitting in the carriage behind mine. His blank eyes stare towards the tributes. They are sharp with intelligence, and I can almost swear that he can see them.

I hear a door slamming, and jerk my head up. Roweena has just entered, from one of the Doors of No Return, as I have begun to think of them. She wears the gown of a thin, delicate sapling tree, which works nicely because of her height. She could be one of the tribute's younger sister. I don't see her stand for a moment, or hesitate and look to see where she is going. She just walks straight up to the Careers, pushing her way in to stand with them.

Uncertain, I glance around at the other tributes. Most are gaping at Roweena's boldness, or staring fixedly on the ground. Jacob has his eyes narrowed in the direction of the Careers, but he's looking slightly too far to the left.

I gaze back at the group of Careers, who seem threatened and shocked by Roweena's appearance. The girl from 1's smile falters slightly, and her partner and the pair from 2 have their eyes narrowed in outright confusion. The boy from 4's face is still completely blank. Alex from 4 is smiling that sly smile of her and speaking slowly with Roweena. I feel a shiver up my spine at the very sight.

Roweena, however, is all smiles and cheerfulness. She responds easily, smile fixed. Alex's smile changes slightly, and I see a small glint of anger in her eyes. She responds something, obviously stiffly, and Roweena raises lined eyebrows slightly and responds.

This proves too much for the boy from 2, who walks up to Roweena, and pushes her to the ground roughly. I suck in a breath between my teeth. Tributes are not allowed to hurt each other until in the arena. It's against the rules. Roweena, however, doesn't seem concerned about rules, standing and dusting herself off. She says something in an offhand way to the boy from 2, who clenches his fists. The other Careers, however hold him back. Roweena directs a comment to the girl from 1 (who rears back and hisses), and nods a farewell, walking away.

Perhaps she felt my gaze on her, or perhaps she, like me, had promised herself to meet me, or maybe it was simply a coincidence. But either way, Roweena walks up to not her own carriage, but mine.

"Hello," she says, in a way as though commenting on the weather.

"Hi," I say, nervousness coming back into me. I extend my arm. "Tara Goldsteed."

"I know," she says, accepting my hand. "Roweena Tailsman."

"I know," I say, shaking our hands. I wonder how she knew my name. Did she pay attention to me on first sight, as I did her? Or did she simply remember everyone's name? "I love your outfit."

"This?" Roweena laughs, "This is the oldest play in the book. I would give anything to be wearing yours. It's so beautiful."

"Oh, thanks," I say. "my stylist and I made it together."

"Really?" Roweena looks at me with surprise. "What's her name?"

"Morella Silverope," I respond.

"Well, I wish I had her," Roweena looks at her outfit with distaste again. "This is so stupid."

I smile at her, and she smiles back. "So . . ." I say, groping for conversation. "How do you like the Capitol?"

Roweena's smile falters. "Group of idiots, they are," she mutters to me. "Are you prep team . . . just . . . complete numbskulls?"

I laugh at the use of the word 'numbskull.' "We don't say that in District 10," I tell her. "but, yes. Complete numbskulls."

Roweena seems interested by the fact that we don't use the term 'numbskull.' "Well, I suppose that's only natural, right? Completely different places, different customs, right? So different words too."

I nod. "In District 10, we'd call them dung-brained."

Roweena laughs. "Dung-brained? I like it." Her laugh dies, and her gaze flicks to the Careers. "Biggest bunch of dung-brains I'll ever meet."

I follow her gaze, to see that Alex is looking around the room idly. We meet gazes, and her eyes narrow. I get the feeling that she's threatening me, though how, I don't know. She looks away a moment later, and the feeling left.

"What did you say to them?" I ask Roweena.

Roweena laughs. "I figured I might as well introduce myself, since we are all going to be together for quite some time these next weeks. But, apparently, they didn't want to know me quite yet. They seemed horribly offended that I walked over there, especially that Alex girl. Horrible, isn't she?"

I nod vigorously. "I know. I wouldn't want to be alone with her."

"Most definitely not," Roweena agrees. "So..." she gestures to the tributes milling around us, fear etched into their faces. "What's their deal?"

"Scared out of their minds," I answer, with sympathy. I can remember when, this morning, I, too, was scared to the point of insanity. But now, calm seems to have come over me like a wave. Anxiety shall not bother me again today.

"Yeah, well, aren't we all?" Rowenna asks. I look at her in shock. I wasn't about to admit how scared I truly was. Why was she? "Oh, let's just be honest," Roweena huffs. "I'm scared out of my mind, and I'm sure that you are too."

I gaze at her in shock for a moment, and then shrug my shoulders. "As long as we're being honest, yes. I am completely and truly terrified." I hesitated, but, for honesty's sake, add, "Especially of Alex."

Roweena smiles and huffs a laugh. "Alex? Please. She's all show. There's no real killer under there. Personally," she lowers her tone "I'm more scared of her beefy district partner."

"Him?" I snicker. "He's a numbskull."

Roweena laughs and nods agreement. "Dung-brained." But after only a few moments, her laughter ides, and her tone lowers once more. "I think that even the Careers are scared. They are complete fakes."

"Well," I say slowly. "there are. . . rumors in District 10. . . about. . . the Careers being trained before the Games."

Roweena nods. "In District 7 as well. I think its true. Most of the Victors are in those Districts. District 7 only has two."

"And District 10 one," I nod. "That's not fair – not fair at all. At least they _chose_ to be here."

Roweena frowns slightly. "I'm not sure it's as simple as that, Tara. I mean, sure, they are trained, but who says they wanted to be in the Games? I truly don't think that any of us meant to be here. But . . ." she examined me like a very interesting animal in the fields. "we were all chosen. We had no choice. You, however," she blinked thoughtfully, and I was suddenly very conscious of how short she was. Funny how I'd forgotten. "You volunteered. What was that girl's name? Laura?"

"Leah," I tell her abruptly. "Leah Brown."

"Ah, yes," Roweena nods. "Leah. So," she moved a bit closer to me, making me feel self-conscious. "what we're all wondering is _why."_

"Why what?" I ask, unnerved.

"Why volunteer for her? She wasn't younger than you, and you aren't family. She looked healthy to me. So why did you throw your life away for her?"

"She's my friend," I reply stiffly. I'm not about to start pouring my life story to Roweena.

"Must be some friend," Roweena says. When I don't reply, she nudges me. "Oh, c'mon, Tara. We're friends here, right? I really thought that we were gonna be good friends."

"We can be friends," I tell her firmly. "I want nothing more. But I would prefer that we could find different conversations. Ones that don't portray to the past."

Roweena stares into my eyes, and a sudden kindness blossoms in them, telling me that she must see the horrible pain I am battling back inside of them. "Of course," she says immediately. "I feel the same way. My family – well, I see what you mean. I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude."

I nod to accept her apology, and Roweena shifts her gaze. Another boy entered from the Doors of No Return. Roweena looks at him a moment, and then back to me. "That's Shelton," she explained. "from my district. You don't mind if I . . ."

I shake my head. "No, of course not. Go ahead."

"Thanks," Roweena grins at me. "I'll see you tomorrow; at training. All right?"

"Okay," I agree, smiling at her back as she walks away. It feels good to have a friend like Roweena. Even back at home, I have few like her. Leah is really my only true friend, and I can't have a conversation with her like I can with Roweena. Not, of course, that I'm saying that Leah is a bad friend, but it's just not the same. She's more like my animal friends, in that sense.

I feel very alone again now that Roweena has left. I can't even watch her talk to her district partner, Shelton. The carriages block my view. I gaze at the tributes milling around me, but don't speak to them. Somehow, I think that I'll only scare them more if I do.

I look to Jacob, behind me, still sitting on the vine-woven carriage of District 11. His eyes seem so intelligent and blank at the same time. . . I never imagined that a blind person could look like that. We have no blind people in District 10. Anyone with a serious disability simply . . . dies. I wonder how Jacob survived. He either has a wealthy family, or I am right and he is exceedingly intelligent.

I think, for a moment, that I see a knowing smile cross Jacob's face – just for a moment, but then it is gone, his face returning to the contemplating mask he had before. I tell myself that I imagined the smile, but inside, I'm not so sure.

I glance at the Careers, to see them all staring back at me, their eyes coated clearly in hatred. I blink, shocked for a split second, before I remember that I was just speaking to Roweena. I have already clearly marked myself a target. Oops. My gaze falls on Alex amongst all the Careers. Instinct tells that that they are all incredibly dangerous. But Alex, it seems, may not be the leader amongst them, but the most dangerous. She gives me a look of complete contempt, which I return with a shake of the head I-feel-so-sorry-for-you look. Before she can register what I meant, I return my gaze to the Doors of No Return, from which Tori is emerging.

He comes to stand beside me, silent and mysterious as ever. I don't look at him, don't acknowledge him, and he doesn't do either to me. Well, at least we have a mutual agreement. I do, at least, glance over to his costume. He is dressed as a deer; a young one, proud and beautiful. I snap my gaze back forward. My eyes fill with tears as I think of the dream from last night, where the deer died suddenly and painfully. . .

But I'm being silly. It was just a dream, and dreams mean nothing but imagination coming to life. Right? And I force my mind to the crowd of the Capitol outside, which we can't hear, but know are there. What if I mess up? What if they hate me? What if I get no sponsors?

Nervousness fills me once more. No sponsors = death. It's as simple as that. Memories of home wash through me. I have to get home. I cannot die.

All too soon, it seems, we are boarding the carriage and the doors open. The crowd screams from outside, as the District 1 carriage rolls out. Crowd favorites, as usual. District 2's applause is slightly less enthusiastic, but deafening all the same. One by one, each carriage rolls out. I am nearly ready to puke when District 10 rolls out.

The Capitol cheers all around us. I smile nervously, and wave. Their cheering steels me, and I begin to over-extravagate the waving, making my gown move as much as possible, and the beads catching the light. The effect must be wonderful, because the cheers grow. I catch flowers, and smell them with a smile. I even tuck one into my hair. I am sure it must horribly clash, but I don't care. I blow kisses and they chant my name "Tara! Tara! Tara!"

I am soon having a wonderful time. They love me! I will get sponsers! I may even win, and go home! It is a moment of hope; wonderful, beautiful hope. I even have possible alliance members with Tori and Roweena, and (who knows? It seems possible in this blissful, happy moment) Jacob. I could win! I could go home!

I do, in the corner of my mind, notice that Tori isn't getting half the attention I am. _That's too bad,_ I think, _his costume really is sensational, even if it brings bad memories to me._ All the same, it's not my fault I got the good stylist.

I can't even pay attention to the speech in the square. I'm too full of nervous energy, and continuously moving to keep the animals and waves and wind and everything else moving on my dress. Every once and a while, I glance up at a screen to see that I am on there as often as District 1. This heartens me as we head to the building where I will spend my last days before entering the arena.

I hope Leah and Auntie and Matthew like my outfit, I think, as we pull up to the building. I hope they are proud of me.


	7. Part 2 Tori

Part 2

Tori


	8. The Shadow

There is nothing around me. There is no sound. There is nothing to feel, as though I am floating in the air. There is only darkness. My heart beats faster and faster and faster, until I think it must explode. My breath speeds with my heart, making my brain become fuzzy, making everything make less sense. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. There is danger.

But I don't know where. I normally like the darkness – it is a cloak that conceals the rest of the world, allowing me to be at peace. I don't have to think about the world at that moment – where I am going to go next, where I will get my next meal . . . But this time, darkness concealing the world only makes me more scared. I can't see danger as it approaches; not this time.

I close my eyes, but see no change in the darkness. I snap them back open, because it makes me feel more aware . . . so that it's not like I'm floating through dreams while danger lurks behind, ready to pounce . . .

Dreams. That's it. I'm dreaming. But since when do I have such vivid dreams? I have only, ever since I was eight, dreamt the same dream . . . and it was vivid. Horribly, horribly vivid. . .

Just thought of the dream brings it spiraling back to focus. I am in a happy home, surrounded by my five siblings – tall and proud Jamie, tall but scrawny Jordan, handsome and buff Chad, Mia, sweet small and innocent, and tiny, chubby baby Clementine. Mother bustles around us, serving breakfast. Her face is tired but full of love.

Dad entered the room, red light of the sunset spilling in behind him. I shriek with my siblings and race my seven-year-old self to him along with Mia and Clementine. Dad scoops up Clementine and Mia, and slaps me on the back. I stare into his eyes. His heart isn't here with us. I watch him walk over to Mom and kiss her. Then he beckons her out of the room.

That was the week when the sickness had started. It was extremely deadly and it killed half the district. The doctors had no cure, and when it proved to be contagious, they started turning away the patients with it.

The victim of the sickness would first become very unsteady, as if they had no muscle tone. Within two hours they would be unable to support themselves. Then came the sleep. The victim would sleep for days and days. Sometimes it would only be a few hours. Others; months. When the victim awoke, they would turn white, shivering for two days. Then there were the four days of fever. And then, the final days when they would seem only extremely weak with a cold. And then, slowly, the heart would stop beating. Slowly . . . very slowly . . . death.

The doctors, turning away from the victims, had neither cure nor name for the disease. It swept through the more densely populated parts of the district quicker, and soon the air smelled of death. Everyone was too scared to properly dispose of the body, or even touch it. So they burned it. There were many fires. Water carts were stationed on every street. Animals in the pastures died by many. Meat wasn't safe to eat.

People began to call the sickness The White Wing, for the silent way it crept upon victims. Some called it the Grey Smoke, for the fires afterwards. Or, others still, Silent Death.

My family lived in a part of District 10 that was fairly well off. We were packed in too close together. As long as we stayed in our homes, we might have been fine. But we had to eat. Mom and Dad had to go to work in the pastures, the place most covered in germs.

One day, Dad came home quieter than usual. He stumbled upon entering the threshold. Jordan helped him to bed, saying that it had been a long day. Dad protested being sent to bed, but was asleep in minutes. Mother, Jordan and Jamie talked for a long time in the kitchen, probably worrying about Dad, worrying about money, worrying about the White Death. I went to sleep early that night, because, I, too was exhausted. Exhausted from life.

I woke to a scream hours later. I jumped from bed, running to Mom and Dad's room, where Mom blocked the door. My siblings stood beside me, looking at her worriedly. "Jamie," Mom swallowed "get a doctor. Now."

Jamie shot a worried look at Mom, and started running. I think he knew at that moment what was going on. I think I did too, but was too scared to admit it.

"Children," Mom turned to us, breathing hard. "I want you to stay in your rooms, okay? Don't go anywhere, not until I tell you to."

"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked.

"Your father is . . ." Mom seemed to cast about for the right word. "Sick. The doctors will take care of him. Now, go."

Jordan led me back to our room, while the girls entered theirs. I sat upon my bed, worried and confused. I glanced at Jordan, who had his face in his hands. I saw something dribbling down his arm. Was he . . . crying?

"What's going to happen, Jamie?" I remember thinking that I sounded so childish, but not caring. I was a child. I needed reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Jordan wiped his eyes. "I don't know, Tori."

"What's wrong with Dad?" I was scared to hear the answer, which Jordan didn't offer. I knew the answer, and, breathless, I whispered, "he has the White Wing cast over him, doesn't he?"

I desperately wanted Jordan to tell me that I was wrong, to tell me that everything was going to be okay, but he only nodded. I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Dad . . . every boy needed a dad. How could I live without one?

"But he'll be okay?" I asked Jordan. "Dad's strong. I've seen him lift crates that no one else can. He'll beat the White Wing away, right?"

Jordan lifted his head to look at me. "The Wing casts a big shadow, Tori," he said. "but maybe Dad can outrun it. Maybe."

I nodded confidentially. "If anyone can, he can."

Jamie didn't come back to the house until midday the next day. He was panting, and behind him was another man – tall, with brown hair and green eyes, freckles dotting his nose. He gave me the impression of a man who like to laugh. But his face was dark with seriousness now.

"Where's your father?" he had a clear voice. I found myself liking him immediately.

"In the room," Jamie answered immediately, walking him to Mom and Dad's room. Mom let him in. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. Jamie and Jordan followed him in. I tried to follow too, but Mom held me back.

"Mom, let me in!" I said angrily.

"No," she snapped. "Watch your sisters. I need to speak with Doctor . . ." she glanced sideways at the man, who inclined his head slightly.

"Goldsteed. Doctor Goldsteed."

"With Doctor Goldsteed." With that, she closed the door.

I turn to see Mia standing at the entry to her room, staring at me fearfully. Even though she is a year older than me, I have always been like her older brother. I walked to her now, and put my arm around her.

"What's going to happen?" she breathed.

I glanced to the door. "There's a doctor here now," I tell her. "We have a better chance?"

"My knees are weak," she told me, gesturing to her shaking knees. "Is the wing over me too?"

"No," I tell her. "You're shaking from fear, that's all. Now, come on." I lead her into her room, to where Clementine sleeps on the floor. I put her in her bed, and climb in too, with Clementine. We shiver there, wondering what's happening in the room next door.

"Everything's going to be okay?" Mia asked.

"Everything's going to be okay," I confirmed, but I didn't believe it.

When Doctor Goldsteed emerged, he announced that it was not good. "He's already sleeping deeply," he said grimly to the family, gathered in the kitchen. I . . ." he hesitated. "I should give him two days of sleep, counting today. Then two days of cold, and four days of fever. And then . . . one final day of weakness."

I began to cry, which I would have been ashamed of normally, but now I was too sad to care. Dad had nine days left to live, including today. Every one of us was crying, including Jordan and Mia and Mom. Doctor Goldsteed bid us good day, and left, promising to be back tomorrow. Mother asked Jamie to watch Dad, saying she was going to sleep. She lay on the couch, and we left her there, unable to comfort her.

Jordan, too, slept most of the day. Once, I woke him, scared that he, too, had been caught under the shadow of the White Wing, but he was fine. I only shivered under my blanket that day, scared out of my mind.

The next day, I decided that I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I woke, and announced to Jamie, who was awake, that I was going to go swimming in the forest. He was uncertain, at first, but agreed that I should get away.

"Stay away from houses," he warned. "stay in the trees."

I left and swam in the forest the rest of the day, dreading my return to the house. Only the thought that my family may worry for me drove me back. When I returned home, I saw that someone had pinned a red cloth with a star on it above the door. The sign of deadly sickness.

I entered, and nearly ran into Doctor Goldsteed. He looked more tired than before, no laughter twinkling in his eyes. "How is he?" I asked anxiously.

"Your father is unchanged," he reassured me. "tomorrow he shall wake. As for your brother," he gestured hopelessly, and my heart skipped a beat. I looked past him to see Mother crying on the couch, clutching baby Clementine, with Mia cowering in the corner.

"No," I breathed.

"Your brother Jordan is with both of them," Doctor Goldsteed informed me, meeting my eyes. "Good luck to your family, Tori," he said quietly. "You will need it."

The next day, Jamie entered the sleep, and Dad awoke to the shivering. No one was allowed into the room but Jordan and Mom, but they conveyed Mia and I messages of love and encouragement from Dad. I took care of Mia and Clementine, with help from Mom occasionally. When I wasn't busying myself, I sat under blankets, shivering and hoping for the best.

Dad's two days of cold passed, and he entered the fever. On dad's third day of fever, Jamie awoke, shivering madly. Jordan and Mom were falling over their feet, trying to take care of the two of them. Doctor Goldsteed did his best to help, but his best was precious little. He could not cure them.

One day, I awoke to a yell of despair. Dad was dead. Jordan took him, and burned him. I was numb with shock. How could this be happening? Upon returning to the house, Jordan collapsed. He took Dad's spot in the bed, and was asleep by sundown.

Just two days later, Doctor Goldsteed gave me the sad news. Jamie, too, was dead. Mom carried his body away, while Doctor Goldsteed watched over Jordan's sleep.

Jordan slept on for days and days – two weeks. I began to hope that maybe, maybe he would live! But, alas, no. He woke and the two days of cold began and ended. On the third day of fever, Doctor Goldsteed was holding baby Clementine when he called my mother to the room. Her screams of agony echoed throughout the house.

Clementine was placed beside Jordan in the bed. On his final day, the last thing he saw was Clementine, who was already awake and screaming from cold. She was inconsolable. Mia and I slept with our arms around each other, shivering.

I began to look at life with a bleary eye. It was someone else's story, not mine. Someone else's misery. Someone else's sorrow. Clementine slept only an hour. Her days finished quickly, luckily for her.

Then, all seemed calm. Mom was inconsolable, and Mia wouldn't leave my side. We all mostly shivered in bed. Doctor Goldsteed brought us food. Mom couldn't go back to work – none of us could leave the house for 30 days.

Days and days past. 1 week. Maybe, I thought, we are all fine. Maybe its over. 2 weeks. I kept hoping, hoping . . . the days past and past, and on the third week, it happened.

Mia collapsed.

She didn't sleep for some time. I sat on the couch in the living room while Doctor Goldsteed and Mom sat in Mia's room. I couldn't believe it was happening again. I had thought it was over. Moaning, I lie down and shivered.

Mia's days seemed to pass quicker than Clementine's. She was just reaching the second day of the fever, when Doctor Goldsteed delivered the final and hardest blow. The White Wing was over Mom too.

Doctor Goldsteed stayed with them – with me for the rest of the days. He took their bodies away – to be burned, I guess, and left me in the house. He visited once a day. I still could'nt leave – not for 30 days.

I began to look on life with one question : When would I get the White Wing and die too? Because my family was dead. I must soon be dead too.

But I wasn't struck ill. Instead, on day 25 of my imprisonment in that chamber of death I'd once been so happy in, Doctor Goldsteed didn't come. The next day, day 26, a woman came, with fiery straight red hair and deep blue eyes. She brought food, which I eagerly ate. She sat on the chair with her face in her hands, crying.

When I was done eating, I gazed at her. She couldn't be that old – only 30, my guess. Near the same age as Doctor Goldsteed. Doctor Goldsteed – why hadn't he come? Did he have more pressing patients now, or . . . ?

"The Wing has its shadow over him, doesn't it?"

The woman looked up at me with a slightly shocked expression on her face. Wiping away her tears, she nodded.

"Who are you?" he asked "his sister? Not much resemblance. . ."

She laughed slightly – too harsh and cough-like to be a real laugh. "No, not his sister," her voice was hoarse. "his wife."

Oh. I hadn't expected that. "Do you . . ." I remembered Mom and Dad. They'd both died, with most of their children. One had been left behind, confused and bleeding. "Do you have any children?"

"Twins," she chocked out. I nod. "They'll be leaving," she told me. "To their aunt's until . . . until . . ." she sniffled again. I could only nod.

"The orphanage is coming to take you tomorrow," she told me. "Twenty-seven days is enough to ensure you are not under the shadow of the Wing."

"What will happen then?"

She shrugged. "I cannot say."

I stared at her a moment, and then said, "Go. Your husband needs you. I'm fine here."

"Thank you," she gasped. She hurried to the door, and turned, body outlined by the sun. "Thank you so much."

Then she was gone, and that was the last I saw of Doctor or Mrs. Goldsteed.


	9. Conversing Over Tea

I am jerked from sleep by knocking on my door. It's quiet, but enough to wake me from the horrible recounts of my life. I swing my feet off the bed, and open the door.

Outside is Tara, hair as fiery red as I remember her mother's to be. But she can't know that I knew her mother, if only for a few moments. I remember thinking of telling her, that first night on the train. I remember thinking how lost she looked the moment before, spinning around in her room, and staring at me openly.

But I couldn't tell her. It was just too much. I felt, in a way, guilty for her parent's passing. My guess was the Doctor Goldsteed had gotten the Shadow over him when nursing my family. And, because they were gone, I had to make amends. That's why I volunteered for her brother. My life was useless anyway. And until I died, I was going to make sure that Tara won.

"Hi," Tara whispers. She wears a white nightgown, and I am suddenly, forcibly, reminded of the White Wing, but I push the thought away. This is just Tara Goldsteed, the girl I owe so much to . . . for the works of her parents.

"Hi," I whisper back. I realize that my voice is hoarse, the voice of a man dead inside. I clear it. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shakes her head. "Nightmares," she whispers, looking around as though scared they followed her into this world. Then her sharp green gaze fastens on me. "You too?"

I laugh dryly. "Is it that obvious?"

Tara hesitated before returning the dry laugh. "I guess. To me, that is." She pauses, as though in thought, and gestures to the room behind me. "Can I come in?"

I realize that I am blocking the door still and quickly move. "O-of course." Tara smiles slightly again, and turns around to push a small cart in with her. I hadn't even noticed it before, due to the darkness of the hall, and my still dream-like stance.

"What's that for?" I ask, but she doesn't answer. I close the door behind her, and follow her to the fireplace, which has two armchairs and a couch arranged around it with a lamp. It occurs to me that the fireplace probably doesn't even have real fire in it; that it's all for show, but the room is cold. Tara sat on the couch and shivered.

"Here, let me," I offered, turning on the fake fireplace, and snagging a blanket from my bed. I handed it to Tara, and sat on an armchair, turning on a lamp. I glance back at Tara. In the sudden light, I can see the tears streaming down her face.

"Tara –" I cut myself off, feeling self-conscious and out of place.

"I'm sorry," she rubs her eyes on her sleeve. "I – I just . . . it's a lot of stress." She sniffles, and picks up something from the cart. "Here," she hands me a cup. It's warm to the touch. "It's tea," she explains. "Auntie made it sometimes from herbs I gathered in the forest."

Cautiously, I raised the cup to my lips. It has a familiar taste – like the seasonings from home. It makes me feel warm inside, like I'm back at home. I greedily gulp at it.

"Careful," Tara warns. "you'll burn your tongue."

I carefully put the cup down on the side table, keeping my hands on it for warmth. I stare at Tara a moment. She couldn't possibly know that I had followed her and her brother's progress ever since I heard of their mother's passing. She couldn't possibly know that I knew everything about her. I was thinking that now might be a good time to tell her – about my past, and why I'd done what I'd done. But, before I can, she clears her throat and says,

"Tori, can I see that notebook that you made – of all the tributes?"

"Um, sure," I say, and stand, looking for it. I find it where I sat it the night before – on the table beside my bed. I pick it up and hand it to Tara, sitting down beside her and sipping tea. Tara flips through the notebook, stopping at each of the Careers, which I had described as a smart and nasty-looking bunch.

She stops on Roweena Tailsman's page. "I disagree," she tells me quietly.

"What?" I ask, momentarily startled. "Oh, Roweena. She's got spunk, all right. But her size . . ." I shrug. "It'll discourage sponsors."

"I spoke with her last night," Tara tells me, quite suddenly. I raise an eyebrow at her. "Oh?"

"Yes. I like her," Tara nods. "I want her to be my ally." She looked up at me, in the eye. "_Our_ ally."

It takes me a moment for me to notice that she just asked me to be her ally. I quickly nod. "Of course, Tara. We're in this together."

She grinned from ear to ear, and flips to District 11. "What about Jacob?" she asks.

I sigh and rub my face. "So unfortunate. He doesn't even have a chance." And it is true. He didn't stand a chance, just like Clementine . . . My eyes tear up, and I leave them behind my hands for a long time.

"But he's so intelligent!" Tara bursts out. "Just look into his eyes . . . you can tell . . ."

I nod. "I agree, but intelligence isn't the only factor in the Games. You have to have strength, too."

Tara shudders. "I still want him with me, though. At least . . ." she must have seen the doubtful look in my eyes, because her tone took on a pleading tone. "At least . . . let's speak with him at training today."

"Well . . ." I am hesitant, but I recognize the plea in her voice. "Well, all right."

Tara smiles, and her eyes crinkle slightly in a way that emphasizes her youth. It's hard to believe that she's only 13 years old. She seems much older. I watch as she flips the page, to her own. I gulp as she reads what's written there. She gazes up at me.

"How do you . . .?"

I know that now is the moment to tell her, but I can't force the words out. I gulp several time, and open my mouth. "My – um, my family . . . knew your dad, and . . ." I can't help it. Tears start leaking out of my eyes, and I bury them in my hands, sobbing pathetically. Tara is patting my back as I cry as I haven't allowed myself to in years.

"Shhh, shhh," Tara murmurs to me. "It's all right."

I cry for a long time, and when I stop, Tara is still rubbing my back. "You know," she says. "You don't have to tell me. I can tell that you had a hard past, and I don't really care how it's connected to my Dad. At least, not until you start to figure this out. Okay?"

"Okay," I choke out. I stare at Tara. "Thank you."

She shrugs. "For what?"

"For being so kind to me," I tell her, feeling more guilty than ever for my association with her parent's deaths. I would have been more comfortable if she was yelling at me.

"It's no big deal," she said to me, and I could tell that she meant it.

"But it is," I tell her. "To me."


	10. Training

"Listen to me," Petri snaps. I immediately straighten up. I had been dozing off. "Sorry," I mumble. Petri snorts and casts a look at Tara, whose eyes are sharp and awake. She shoots me a only half-playful scolding look, and I shrug. I have no idea how she has that much energy when she was up half the night.

" . . . sneaky. Don't trust them," Petri is saying. "The Careers have taken in tributes before, but it's never been profitable for any but the Careers. Said tribute would be killed quickly in the game, but their allies. The Careers look down on all the other tributes, believe them to be . . . less . . . worthy of the Games."

"So is it true?" Tara asks, her eyebrows going up on her face. "The Careers enjoy being in the Games? They are trained?"

Petri hesitates. "It would appear to be so, to the common viewer . . . but" he shakes his head. "I cannot tell you the truth. To find that, you would have to ask a Career tribute themselves. Which of course, I discourage you from doing."

"But wouldn't that keep us safe, if only for a few days?" I ask.

Tara lets out a huff of air. "Tori, haven't you been listening? They would kill us on the second or third day of the Games. We'd be safe until they _killed us."_

"They couldn't kill us if we got away," I argue. "or if _we _killed _them_ first."

Petri is looking at me thoughtfully. "Do you know how to use a weapon?"

"Not particularly, no," I answer.

"Well, the way you were talking, I thought you were professionally trained," Petri spits, fire flashing in his eyes. "Thinking like that is going to get you killed, Tori. You can't handle a weapon. You couldn't kill them. And if you escape, which is very unlikely, you have marked yourself a target for them. You'd be dead in a day."

I glance at Tara, who meets me eyes. I see stubbornness there. Strength. The will to win; to live. She is strong – stronger than I could've ever hoped from a 13 year old. She could win. And I intend that she does.

I wonder what she sees in my eyes. Does she see that I've given up? Does she know that all effort in my life now, is directed to keeping her alive? I don't think so. She may be perspective, but I don't think she knows me well enough to know . . . so much.

"You're right," I nod at Petri. "Sorry, I was just thinking aloud."

Tara shoots me a look that says 'Be quiet.' "Tori and I have been talking," she began slowly. "We want to form an alliance."

Petri nods his approval. "I agree. Alliances are essential. Who do you have your eyes on?"

"Well, obviously each other," Tara says "and Roweena Tailsman." I notice that she didn't mention Jacob Turner. Maybe she changed her mind about him. I hope so. I'm not sure if it's smart, teaming up with him.

"Good," Petri says. "I want you to get to know her well today. See if you can find some others that you like, too. As for keeping to stations . . ." he gazed Tara and me up and down. "try every one. You are the underdogs here. Learn as much as you can."

With that, Tara and I left the elevator and entered the training room. Most of the tributes were already there, spread about and lingering alone. Some stood with their district partners awkwardly, just for the sake of not standing alone. The Careers stand in the middle of it all, laughing loudly, and glaring impressively at the other tributes. I shuddered just looking at them. They _did_ seem to be enjoying themselves, and every single one of them had volunteered for another kid.

_Were _they trained? _Did_ they choose to be here? Petri had suggested to ask a Career, but, looking at Alex, who was snorting at a comment, I didn't think that would be smart. She might just gut me if she caught me looking.

"Look," Tara says, snapping me back to reality. "Roweena."

Roweena Tailsman is standing beside a rather rat-looking boy, whom I assume is her district partner. She is attempting conversation with him, laughing and gesturing to the Careers, obviously making fun of them. However, the rat boy doesn't seem eager to make fun of them. He is, rather, glancing nervously at the sneers being thrown at them.

"C'mon," Tara encourages me, leading me over to Roweena, who smiles brightly upon catching sight of us.

"Tara!" she cries, hugging Tara like a sister. When she steps back, she glances at me, extending her hand.

"Tori Dawn, right? Tara's district partner?" I nod, taking her hand. "I'm Roweena Tailsman. Nice to meet you."

"And you." I'm not surprised that she knows my name. Roweena strikes me as the sort of person that knows everything.

"This," Roweena says, gestering to her rat-faced friend "is Shelton James. He's my district partner." Shelton only nods at Tara and me. He seems very nervous. I am tempted to yell "BOO!" just to see how far he would jump.

"So," Tara says casually. "Any idea when the Gamemakers will be here?"

Roweena shrugs and smiles at Tara. "Why? Eager to start training?"

Tara grins. "Something like that."

"Me too. I – " Roweena breaks off, glaring darkly at something behind Tara and me. "Don't look around you too," she says around a sneer. "We've got company. Hello, Alexis."

"Roweena," sneers a voice behind me. I turn, to see Alex Brown, from District 2, glaring at our group, with the girls from 4 and 1 behind her.

"And why are you over _here?"_ asks Roweena almost casually. "Shouldn't you be over _there _with your _friends, _sneering and making fun of the other tributes? Hmmm?"

I am pretty sure that Alex's blood is boiling (her fellow Careers are certainly cracking their knuckles), but if she is bothered by this jibe, she hides it well. "No, I thought I'd pay a visit to . . . you four." I see her eyes narrow on each of us. I meet her gaze steadily, and Tara does that same. Roweena smiles something similar to a sneer, and Shelton sort of cowers behind her.

"So . . ." Alex sneers "is this a little alliance we have here? Hmmm? Is this going to be the poor little tributes to challenge the Career pack?" Alex's little friends laugh harshly behind her. _Vultures,_ I begin to think of them. _Ready to pick the remains off the bones after the predator is done._ I glance at Alex. She most definitely seems like someone ready to attack, with that glint to her eye and sneer on her face.

And it seems that she's made an enemy of us.

"Oh, I don't know, Alexis," Roweena says, answering Alex's question. "I don't think that anyone can compete with the Careers. Especially not this year, when they're such a powerful group. And, heavens, they even have a sly little pig with them. You."

Alex doesn't do so well hiding her anger this time. She sucks her lip in and clenches her fists, narrowing her eyes to slits on Roweena. "Oh, Roweena," she says, something between a croon and a snarl. "you have no idea what I have waiting for you in the arena."

Roweena opens her mouth to reply, but Tara beats her to it. "You know what _Alexis?"_ she asked. "I think that you're scared."

Alex's sneer deepens. "Scared? Of you? Of them?" she gestured contemptuously as the tributes milling about us.

"Yes, I do," Tara says simply "of every single one of us."

Alex seems rocked. Is it just me, or does fear flicker across her face. I want to beam at Tara. I've always known that she has that sense of intellect, but rarely have I seen her put it to use. How does she know?

"I am not," snaps Alex, all bark _and_ bite now. "Why should I be scared of them? Why should I be scared of _you,_ little Tara?" she snorts. "Ridiculous."

Tara keeps her cool, saying only, "Fears may be ridiculous, Alexis, but they are still there."

Alex lets out a snarl and advances on Tara. My muscles click into place, and I begin to move towards them, but Roweena catches my eye, shaking her head just a fraction. No. I have to let Tara fight her own fights.

Alex puts her face in Tara's, though she admittedly has to lean down quite a bit. "Now, you listen to me, pipsqueak," she hisses. "I have no reason to fear you, or any of your little alliance-mates, or any other tribute. I fear not even the Careers. I do not fear you. You are weak and small and pathetic. Why would I fear _you?"_

Tara's answer is to smile sweetly. "You may not fear me, Alexis. But you should."

That surprises Alex so much that she actually backs off a bit. "W-why?"

"Because," Tara explains, the sweet smile dropping from her face. "You are selfish and mean and evil. And the evil people," she winks at me, perhaps seeing my concern. "always – _always_ lose."

I am scared to think of what might have happened next. But the Gamemakers walked in, and took their seats, motioning at us to get started, and Alex disappeared immediately, melting into the crowd of suddenly-moving people.

I hurry to stand by Tara, as not to lose her in the crowds. "Impressive," I tell her quietly. She smiles slightly. "Thanks. I do try." This makes me grin, and we turn to Roweena.

"You guys want to walk around together?" I ask.

"Nah," Roweena says. "Divide and conquer, I say. How about. . ." she considers, blinking. "Non-violent stations before lunch, alone, and then, after lunch, we'll regroup at the more . . . violent ones." Her eyes sparkle dangerously as she says the word 'violent.'

"Sounds good to me," Tara agrees.

"Wait," I say suddenly. "Where's Shelton?"

Roweena sighs. Most tributes are at their stations now. "I don't know, and, to be honest, I don't care. My mentor says we should stick together, but, to be honest, I don't think he'll survive the bloodbath. He's such a . . ." she glances at Tara, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. "numbskull _and _a dung-brain."

After chuckling slightly, Tara suggests, "We'll just keep an eye out for other allies then."

And, with that, we part. I can't say where the others went, but I head to the berries station, which is empty when I got there. The instructor there greets me warmly, and immediately starts to educate me on poisonous and non-poisonous berries. I recognize some of those from my time in the pastures in District 10, and I pass the first two tests quickly and easily.

I move on to the knots station. The tributes from 4 are there, knotting like pros and totally outshining me. They snigger at my poor attempts that I am rather proud of, until I leave the station, having learned hardly anything.

I wander from station to station, avoiding the spears, bows, swords, wrestling, and other violent stations. I spend a long time learning to make a fire; first with matches, then with different types of wood. The girl from 5 was there, struggling right along with me. I try to joke with her a bit, but she doesn't acknowledge me much. When I move on, I am pretty confident that I can make a fire out of just about anything.

I go over to the animals station, where I know Tara is waiting, alone. Technically, we aren't supposed to meet up, but I don't care. I want to see her at this station.

Tara, of course, aces the first test of identifying animals, and telling what they do. I do fairly with it, being from District 10, but nothing compared to Tara. In fact, Tara begins to argue with the instructor over rights of animals.

"That is simply ridiculous, young lady. You will by no means survive these games if you do not eat the meat of the animals."

"No, sir, _that _is ridiculous. And if you were not born a dull-brained Capitol man, but a squirrel in those woods, I am sure that you would agree with me."

"I – I –" the instructor takes a moment to recompose himself. "I am only trying to warn you of the perils ahead, young lady. You would take good advice and heed me."

"Really?" Tara asks. "Funny, don't think I will." She winks at me, and is gone in the next moment. I stay only a moment, just to take one more test, and move on to snares, which I know Tara would not approve of. All the same, I soon learn how to make over 20 snares for small animals. I know that this skill will come in handy, even if it won't feed Tara.

I go to the roots station next, and learn about 30 edible roots. Of course, I already knew some of them, just from experience in the pastures. Both tributes from 9 are there, but they don't seem very keen to talk to me. I don't even manage to get their names off them.

"Look," the girl finally huffs. "We don't want to get to know anyone we don't have to, okay? No offense, but it will only make this harder than it already is."

Her partner nodded agreement, and I assented, moving on, my apologies said, but not recognized.

I go to the grub station, where the boy from 3 is. I try to speak to them, but he just stares at me openly the whole time. I find this distracting, and don't pay very good attention to the instructor, and barely pass the first test. I decide to stay awhile longer, and pay more attention when the boy from 3 leaves. But in his place comes the girl from 12.

I am immediately stunned as I look at her. She has long dark hair that falls down her back like a sheet of water, and sparkling green eyes. She smiles at me, and immediately transfers her attention to the instructor. I, too, try to look at the instructor, but I find the girl as distracting as the boy from 3 staring at me.

1's girl appears to be completely stupid, but I don't judge her by her appearance, because I know it's probably all just an act. She's all giggles and smiles, especially with me. I find myself shaking her off, eyes narrowed. But she's like a leech, and just clings on.

"Look," I finally spit at her. "Get off of me. Now."

She giggles. "What do you mean?" she grabs onto my shoulder. I shake her off.

"Get – off – of – me," I hiss dangerously.

She lets go, looking offended. "Gheez, boy. Lighten up." She looks into my eyes again, a sly look creeping into them. "Listen, I'm just gonna come out and say this." She lowers her voice. "I think you're cute. I might be able to get you into the Careers . . . if you . . ." she giggles "decide that you like me back."

For some reason, my gaze flicks to the girl from 12, who is studiously looking at the instructor and the grubs, but her rigid moves tell me that she knows what is going on beside her. I look back to the girl from 1 as she grabs onto my arm again, lacing our fingers.

"Listen," I try to pull my hand away, but I can't. She giggles and squeezes harder. Man, this girl has a grip! "Listen, I don't even know your name, and I already have –"

"No, you listen," she pulls me closer, and her blonde hair is all around my face. It smells like . . . vanilla. "My name is Dazzle," she tells me. Her breath smells of vanilla too. "And I think you will agree . . . I am named well."

I push her away, unlacing our fingers. "Dazzle, no. I already have an alliance. I –"

"Those losers?" Dazzle pouts, reaching for my hand. "Oh, c'mon, Tori. We could have such a . . . better alliance, couldn't we?" she giggles, and I lean away from her, looking at the girl from 12, who is stiff as a rock now, staring down at a grub, her eyes not moving. The instructor's words, I think, are lost on all of us now.

"Dazzle," I put all the resolve I can into these words. "I am not joining you. Now get off of me."

Dazzle does get off, but her eyes flash dangerously. "You don't want to make an enemy of the Careers, Tori Dawn."

"Yeah, well, I really don't care," I say indifferently, turning back to the grubs.

"You're making a big mistake," Dazzle hisses. "This offer will only come once."

I snort. "Big mistake? Please. Joining you would be the mistake, am I wrong?"

Dazzle quickly changes strategies, her eyes softening again. "But Tori," she wines. "I really, really, really like you."

"Yeah, well," I shake her off. "Go find another puppet, will you?"

And with that, I begin to talk with the instructor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dazzle stare at me, open-mouthed for a few moments, and then her face hardens. "You will regret this," she hisses. I take no notice, still speaking with the instructor. Dazzle huffs, flips her hair, and with a small tornado of vanilla, she is gone.

When she is gone, I risk a glance over at the girl from 12. A small smile is on her face. As I look at that smile, sunshine fills my heart, and I smile too. She looks up and meets my eyes a moment. They are such a deep blue, like the deep lake that we bath the animals in the pastures in. The twinkle a moment, and then she looks down again.

My heart soaring, I look back to the line of grubs on the table.


	11. More Training and Lunchtime

When lunchtime finally comes, I have reached every single one of the non-violent stations. Satisfied, I load my plate with everything I can fit. I am starving. I join Roweena at a table far from the loud, boasting Careers.

"Meet anyone?" she asks casually.

"Nope," I say, digging into some kind of casserole. "they all seemed kind of scared . . . or in awe of me. No one wants to get close."

Roweena sighs. "Me either. The boy from 12 tried to punch me, I was being so persistant."

I laugh, lowering my fork. "How'd that work out for him?"

"Not well," Roweena says, giving me a sly, satisfied look. "I couldn't punch him back – not with all those Gamemakers watching, but . . ." she winks, making me snort with laughter.

Tara plopped down beside me. "Roweena, Tori, this is Isabella Everdeen, from District 12."

I look up and receive a shock. The girl now sitting next to Roweena, whom Tara introduced as Isabella Everdeen, is the girl from the grub station. She looks at me, and her eyes twinkle merrily. I begin grinning like an idiot.

Suddenly, it strikes me how different, yet similar Isabella and Roweena were – Isabella with her long hair and legs and laughing eyes, and Roweena with her short dark hair and nut-dark skin and playful expression. It makes me want to laugh.

"Tori Dawn," I say, thrusting my hand out. Isabella smiles at me and shakes it. Her hands are small and delicate. I smile back at her.

"Roweena Tailsman," Roweena extends her hand, and Isabella takes it. Roweena squints up at Isabella, and pronounces, "We _must_ be long-lost twins!" This earns a round of laughter from the table.

"So," I say to Isabella when the laughter dies down. "Are you interested in joining us?"

Isabella's eyes slightly lose their sparkle at my serious tone, but she nods readily. "Definitely. That is, if you will have me."

"Are you kidding?" Tara laughs. "Of course we'll have you!"

"No way we'd turn my twin away!" Roweena gasps. Everyone laughs.

"You didn't, by any chance, see anyone else who might want to join?" I ask Isabella bracingly

She shakes her head. "Most don't want alliances, and I don't push them. My district partner is a jerk. I don't want anything to do with _him._" I glance at Roweena, remembering that Isabella's district partner was the one who tried to punch her, and see a playful grin on her face.

"And Shelton?" I ask "No offense, Roweena, but I'm not sure that he would be a . . . reliable ally."

Roweena nods immediately "I completely agree. He's a worthless idiot. I think he's only been hanging out with me because he wants to be in my alliance." She snorts. "He thinks that I'll protect him."

"Shelton?" Isabella asks. "Who's he?"

I rush to answer her, but Roweena beats me. "He's my district partner – see, there he is, by the food. The one cowering at the mangos? Yep, that's him, the idiot."

Isabella laughs, and I smile at the sound of the clear laugh. I join in, but her laugh dies too quickly, and I too, abruptly stop. There is a short awkward silence while Isabella beams at me, and I sort of grimace a smile in response.

"Well," Tara turns to Roweena, a slightly bracing look. "Did you think about . . . Jacob?"

I look quickly at Roweena. Tara has already brought up Jacob with Roweena, then? Does Roweena agree with Tara, or does she, like me, think that it is a waste of time and effort? I watch her carefully as she says,

"Yeah, I did, and . . ." Roweena takes one look at Tara's pleading face, and then looks at me. I raise my eyebrows questioningly. "Well, Tara . . . we'll at least talk to him."

Tara let out a breath that she had been holding and nodded in thanks to her. "He's sitting over there . . ." she gestures to a table at the far corner, close to the Career table. "I'll bring him over here."

"I'll come with you," Isabella rises gracefully with Tara.

"M-me too," I volunteer immediately, jumping up somewhat clumsily. To hide my embarrassment, I quickly glance down at Roweena. "You coming?"

"Nah," she says, chewing absently on a piece of bread and nodding at the direction of the food table. "Shelton approaches." And, sure enough, quivering and crouching, Shelton was edging his way to the table. "I'll talk to him," Roweena promises. "Tell him to stop tailing us."

"Okay," Tara says, leading us towards Jacob and the Careers. "We'll be right back."

As we made our way across the tables of tributes, I didn't once look from Isabella, who walked in front of me gracefully. Something about her put me in a sort of trance. Her graceful stride, her long, beautiful hair, the playful glint in her eyes . . . I couldn't stop looking at her.

Once, she glanced back at me and caught me looking. My heart stopped, but I didn't stop staring. Isabella laughed, and I smiled back at her, nervous for the first time in a long time. Then she turned around again.

I was only vaguely aware of how quiet it was - no one was talking, or even breathing, it seemed. And eyes followed us everywhere, staring at the tributes who weren't scared. But how wrong that was! I was terrified, though I hid it, joking with Roweena and Tara and . . . Isabella. . .

When we reached Jacob's table, Tara greeted him loudly and cheerfully. "Hello, Jacob. You may not know me, but my name is –"

"Tara Goldsteed, I know," Jacob says. I start in surprise. He focuses his eyes on a spot a few inches from where Tara's face is, and extends his hand in that area.

"Er, it's nice to meet you," Tara says, moving herself slightly so that she can shake Jacob's hand.

"And have you brought others?" Jacob asks, looking about him, his sightless eyes moving right over where Isabella and I stood. "Tori Dawn, maybe, your district partner?"

"Yes, here," I say. Jacob turns to face me, and extends his hand exactly to where I stand. I take it, and Jacob shakes. He has a strong grip.

"And I'm Isabella Everdeen," Isabella extends her hand to Jacob, who locates it without a problem and shakes.

"District 12, I believe?" Jacob asks politely.

"Yes," Isabella smiles that radiant smile, and I find myself wishing that Jacob could see – just for a moment, to see that wonderful smile.

"Please, sit down," Jacob says. Tara sits beside him, and Isabella and I sit across from him. Beside each other. My heart begins to pound in my throat, as I feel her warmth beside me.

"So, Jacob, we were wondering. . ." Tara begins slowly, looking at me for support. I am only slightly aware of this, however. I am concentrating on Isabella, sitting beside me. Even her breaths are graceful.

Tara clears her throat, making me jump. "We were wondering if you might be interested in joining us . . . form an alliance."

Jacob's eyes narrow instantly, and he looks in Tara's direction. "With you three?"

"And Roweena Tailsman," I add quickly. Isabella shifts slightly beside me. My heart flutters.

"Ah, Roweena," Jacob is smiling. "She made some enemies, didn't she?" he nods to the table behind him, the Career's table.

"You know who's sitting there?" I ask before I can stop myself. Tara narrows her eyes at me. I shrug, embarrassed, and risk a glance at Isabella, who is looking at Jacob with interest.

"Of course," Jacob says lightly. "They're a loud group – anyone would know that they were there." We all laugh, glad that the tense moment was gone.

I look over at the Career's table, to see them all looking curiously at us. Dazzle is sitting there. She glares at me, and I raise an eyebrow in questioning. She moves her hand across her neck – the universal sign of 'you're dead.' I nod at the table I'm sitting at, challenging her to do so, and she clenches her fists.

Beside me, Isabella shifts. I glance at her. She is looking from me to Dazzle, worry etched across her face. I smile at her reassuringly, and look up to see that Dazzle has indeed taken me up on my offer, and is coming over, accompanied by Alex. They both sit down at the table without asking permission, Alex beside Tara, and Dazzle beside me. I instinctively move toward Isabella, away from Dazzle.

"So," Alex says, looking at me curiously. "You turned down the Careers – _Dazzle – _for _these_ losers, did you, Tori?" she chuckles meanly. "You must be as mad as my friend Tara here." She nods slightly at Tara, who is clenching her fists.

"No, I would have been an idiot to join you," I answer immediately, slyly.

"But, Tori, honey," Dazzle is . . . dazzling again. I find myself staring at her beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes, and the smell of vanilla clouds around me. "it would be so much better if . . ."

I snap back to attention. "No, Dazzle. Forget it." I instinctively reach for Isabella's warm hand, and she clutches it. My heart fills immediately, as I'm sure my face does. Since when do I do such bold moves?

"Oh, Dazzle," Alex's voice taunts. "I think that you just couldn't . . . compare." She nods to Isabella and my own arms, with clasped hands under the table.

Dazzle's face heats up, and her eyes narrow. She puts her finger on my chest, bringing her face up close. "One last chance, Tori. I've been too kind already. Choose. Me, or a bloody death by yours truly." She laughs harshly, and I catch a glimpse of the real Dazzle beneath the act. I push her away from me.

"I'll take my chances," I spit at her. Then I turn to Jacob. "So, alliance or no?"

Jacob smiles. "Alliance."

"Good," I say, standing, and helping Isabella up. Her face is shining like diamond in the sun. It lightens my heart, too. "C'mon, guys." Tara and Jacob stand up. "Good day, Dazzle, Alex," I say, and I lead the others away, sure that I'm grinning like an idiot again.

"C'mon, Tori!" snaps Roweena. "I'm ready. C'mon!"

We stand in the swordmanship station, each holding a sword. Roweena has already proven adept at this particular station, while I haven't even tried yet. Tara and Isabella clumsily spar a few feet away, while Jacob carefully tries to find a good sword. The very thought of him handling something sharp makes me nervous, but I try not to judge him.

"Tori!" Roweena snaps again. "Try; before I die of boredom!"

Smiling slightly at this last comment, I raise the sword that the instructor thought would suit me. It feels good in my hands – heavy at the hilt and light at the tip. I take a few steps at Roweena and try a slash. Immediately, she counters it and attacks, smacking the swords together. I take a few steps back and let the sword fall from my hands.

Roweena snorts. "Again, and don't drop it!"

I pick it up, and try again. Again and again, I drop the sword. Eventually, the instructor brings a new sword to me, this time with a longer blade, more flat, and a bit lighter. I try to attack Roweena again, and, though it ends with her pointing her three-sided blade at my heart, I don't drop the weapon.

We tried again and again, the instructor giving suggestions, and are soon sparring like pros. We laugh as we fight, clanging the swords against each other, until we stop, short of breath. We thank the instructor, who gives a few last-minute tips, and move on to archery.

I'm no good at archery. Every bow feels clumsy in my hands, and I keep dropping it. What few arrows I do manage to shoot are far from the targets. Roweena manages fairly in this station, but Tara fails desperately, just as she had the swords. Jacob, too, is hurt in this station because of his lack of seeing. It seems, though, that this is the area of Isabella's expertise. She nails every bull's eye every time, and is soon hitting clay birds out of the air. I find myself stopping just to watch her, to admire her movements.

Next we move to the spears station, which I am miserable at. My aim is horrible. Roweena does fairly, and Tara doesn't do quite so bad either. Isabella's amazing talent that she showed in archery apparently doesn't extend to spears. Jacob, however, surprises us all. He manages to hit all of the targets that make noise, even the moving ones. But the silent ones he can't do. The instructor only scratches her head and says that he should be fine, as long as the tributes that he's hunting make noise.

At knives, Jacob shows the same talent. This station I am better at, but nowhere near as good as I am at Swordsmanship. Roweena and Isabella do all right, but Tara finds them all to be too heavy. "It's no good," she sighed after awhile. "Let's move on, shall we?"

We went to wrestling. Isabella and Tara are horrible at this, and the instructor teaches them some pressure points on the body that might just save their lives. Jacob, the instructor pronounces, is better than he would have expected, but still lacking. Again, if the tribute that he is fighting is making a lot of noise, he should be off fairly well. I can hold my own against the instructor, but he suggests that I run before wrestling with a tribute if at all possible.

Roweena, however, proves to be a little whirlwind of fury, and soon has us all pinned to the ground, even the instructor, who laughs and stands. He slaps her on the back, and praises her. She grins at him, and winks at me. I laugh loudly.

We finish up the violent stations, and are left with a good 15 or so minutes left. We talk amongst ourselves, and decide to go and spend some extra time at the healing station. Of course, I failed dismally at that station. My stomach turned at the very thought of blood and illness, which was silly, of course, but it reminded me of the Shadow . . .

Tara, of course, proved amazing at this, after all those years of healing animals. Roweena and Isabella, like me, are horrible, wrinkling their noses at the fake blood and insides. I want to puke, but don't, because Isabella is watching me. Instead I smile-grimace, and she laughs. Jacob, like Tara, is amazing at healing, which I guess is a good thing, because that's just about all he can do when a tribute isn't yelling at him, "I'm here! I'm here!" but, all the same, after spending the afternoon with him, I had decided that I like Jacob. He has a good sense of humor, and his intellect reminds me of Tara.

Before I know it, Roweena, Jacob, Isabella, and I are headed up in an elevator to our separate floors. Roweena bids us farewell at the 7th floor. Then the elevator reaches the 10th. Mine and Tara's stop. Before I go, I squeeze Isabella's hand once. "Rooftop. Tonight," she whispers. I nod. There's no way that I'll miss it.

"So?" Petri asks immediately, as we enter the dining room.

Tara and I glance at each other, and she says, "Well, Roweena Tailsman's definitely an ally – and a good one at that. She can handle almost any weapon and is awesome at wrestling and swordsmanship."

"Isabella Everdeen, from 12," I add, picturing her sparkling eyes and feeling my heart melt just a little bit. "She's pretty good, and she wants to join too. She's amazing at archery."

"Jacob Turner, too," Tara adds. "He's amazingly intellectual – he can hit any target with anything so long as it makes sound, and he's quite the doctor."

"I don't know about Jacob," Petri says, scratching his head. "He might just be a problem. Are you sure?"

Tara nods immediately. "I'm very sure."

"Well," Petri hesitates. "Okay, then. I'm just going to trust you there, Tara. What about your abilities?"

Tara doesn't answer, so I step up. "Swordsmanship. I completed all the non-violent stations and learned quite a bit. I can throw a knife, but I wouldn't wager on it. And I can hold my own in a fight." I glanced at Tara, cueing her to speak.

"Erm, I can do healing," she says slowly. "And find food anywhere – grubs, berries, and the sort. I can sort of throw a spear, and I know a few pressure points that could help me get out of a tough spot."

My heart twists as I realize how precious little she really did manage to accomplish. "And her animal skills," I added quickly. "and you can run, right?"

Tara nods, giving me a grateful look. But I can see my despair in her eyes. Those skills won't keep her alive long – eventually she'll have to confront a tribute, and not just run away.

"Hmmm," Petri says, studying her awhile. "Maybe Tori could teach you something of swordsmanship?"

"Maybe," Tara almost whispers, but I know it's useless. A sword is as clumsy in her hands as a bow is in mine.

"We'll try," I promise anyway, and Tara's face brightens slightly. "C'mon," I put my arm around her shoulders, which before last night I would have never dreamed of doing. Now it seems natural; simply right. Tara's my little sister now; one that I have to protect. "Let's go eat."


	12. Isabella

I creep up the stairs to the rooftop, holding the tray in my hands. I was bringing a blanket, a tray of warm milk and a sweet bread called 'cookie', along with a few other assorted items. I had tried one in my room, and love the way it melted in my mouth.

My heart is thudding with each step I take. The milk cups are rattling, and I'm afraid that they will spill. When I reach the top of the staircase, the cold wind hits me, and I am glad for the blanket. I glance around. Where is Isabella?

I walk around a bit, but don't see her anywhere. _She must not be here yet._ My heart thudding, I pick a spot past the walkways, on the soil beneath the leafy trees. I could almost be home, beside the forest . . . my heart warms at that thought, and the chilly wind doesn't matter anymore.

I carefully and quickly set it all up. Satisfied, I walk back to the staircase to wait for Isabella. I choose a tree nearby that blocks some of the wind, pick a pear from a tree, and sit down to wait. The pear is juicy and soft and very delicious. I finish it quickly, and toss it to the side. I then shiver, and fix my eyes on the door.

Isabella is coming, isn't she? She didn't forget, did she? She wouldn't have set me up, right? I shiver again, and wait awhile. More time passes. I'm not sure how long I have been waiting. 15 minutes, maybe? An hour? Two?

I keep staring at the door. Doubts swirl in my mind, and my heart grows heavy, the elated feeling that has been clinging to me disappearing quickly. Just when I am thinking of going back to my warm bed, the door opens, and Isabella appears.

"Isabella!" I cry, standing and dusting myself off.

"Tori!" she calls back, running to me and giving me a hug. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't get away – Haymitch wanted to talk strategy."

I assume that Haymitch is her trainer, and just nod. I pull her back at arm's length and study her. She's pulled her hair back and on top of her head, and she added a jacket to her outfit. Her eyes still twinkle at me, though worriedly, as though scared I'll be angry.

"How do I look?" she asks anxiously.

I smile. "Absolutely beautiful." The words slip out, making me so embarrised I just want to shove them back in. I'm sure that I'm blushing, but Isabella only smiles that radiant smile, and moves away to clutch my hand.

"Are you sure that you don't mind?" she asks. "It's cold out here, and you must have been waiting for awhile . . ."

I shrug. "It's fine." I see her disbelieving expression and squeeze her hand. "Really. Stop worrying."

She gazing into my eyes, and visibly relaxes. "Well, all right. If you're sure . . ."

"Positive," I smile and squeeze her hand again. "Now, if you will follow me. . ."

I lead Isabella to the spot in the trees, overly conscious of how close she is, and how alone we are. The night doesn't seem so cold with her around. She keeps shivering, though, and squeezing my hand. I worry that she's getting too cold and hurry through the trees.

When I lead her off the path, she raises her eyebrows, but follows me. She lets out a gasp, seeing what I've set up for her. I lead her to a spot on the blanket, and she sits down, staring around her. Grinning, I sit opposite of her, on the other side of the tray.

"You – you did this?" Isabella asks. She isn't shivering anymore, because the trees are blocking the wind. "For me?"

"For you," I agree, pouring her a cup of warm milk, which she accepts as she stares around us.

"Wow, Tori," she finally sighs, sipping the milk. "This is amazing."

And it is, is I do say so myself. Between us sits the silver tray, with still-warm milk and cookies on it, and the pale pink blanket that we sit on is soft. Around us is a sea of candles, placed carefully so that they won't burn anything.

"Thanks," I tell her with a smile, sipping the milk as well. "I'm glad that you like it."

Isabella takes a cookie and bites into it. "Mmmmmm," she sighs. "What is this called?"

" 'Cookie'" I answer, taking one myself, but not eating it. "Do you like them?"

"Love it," she mumbles around a mouthful. I laugh loudly, and, after swallowing, Isabella does too.

I notice one of her chocolate-stained hands is lying beside the tray. I take it, my heart pounding wildly. Isabella puts down her cookie and takes my other hand, too. It seems to me a magical moment, surrounding by flickering candles on a cold night, the stars just barely visible above.

Isabella sighs, and suddenly shivers again. "Still cold?" I ask, and she shrugs. I carefully maneuver around the tray, and open my arms. Without hesitation, Isabella slides into them. "Better?" I ask.

"Much," she sighs.

We stay like that for a long, quiet moment, and then she says, "Tori?"

"Mmmm?"

"I don't know anything about you," she tells me.

It takes me a moment to understand what she is implying. "Oh, right. Me," I find myself wishing that she hadn't brought this conversation to us at this moment. I can't continue; can't find the words to tell her about my past.

"Do you have any family?" Isabella asks.

"Uh, yeah," I say slowly. "My mom and dad, two older brothers, Jamie and Jordan, and two younger sisters, Mia and Clementine."

"What are they like?"

I find myself pouring out, telling Isabella all about my family – about the time the Jamie fell on the ice and didn't wake for hours, about the time that dad had a booger coming out of his nose, and didn't know it, about the time we threw Mia a surprise birthday party, about the time Clementine said her first words. Isabella is a good listener. She listens carefully to all the stories, laughing at the punch line, and gasping at the dramatic parts. Finally, when I can think of no more memories of them besides the Shadow ones, I stop.

"Do you want to go back to them?" Isabella whispers.

"Yes," I tell her, feeling tears in my eyes. "You have no idea."

"There's always hope," she tells me. I only shrug, and she turns to look at me.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," I sniffle, and wipe my nose.

"Tori," she grabs my hand. "What's wrong?" Her caring eyes are looking into my soul, begging me to tell her, saying that she'll make it better, whatever is wrong.

I unravel and tell her the end of the story; their final days under then wing, and my hopeless despair, and Tara's dad and mom. I also tell her about those hard days in the orphanage where there was no food and no room, and about how I eventually ran away, and how no one had even bothered to come and look for me. I tell her about how I ate from trash cans and slept in allies, and often fought men for my food. I can feel the tears going down my face as I speak, and I see Isabella's as well. She doesn't wipe them away.

"Oh, Tori," she says when I am finished, and embraces me, patting my back and letting me cry as Tara did last night. When I am done, I sit up and wipe my tears. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" she asks. "I feel as though I know you now. Like I really know you."

"I haven't told Tara yet," I say, feeling guilty. Isabella makes a few calming noises, and squeezes my hand.

"You will when you are ready," she promises. I nod.

"What about you?" I ask, forcing my brain to a different topic.

"Oh, my mom and I work as seamstresses. We manage pretty well off that money – we don't live in the run-down part of District 12 – the Seam, at least. I have a little brother – not even one year old yet. He's the cutest thing in the world." Isabella pauses, as though gathering strength to go on. "Dad still has to work in the mines, though, which Mom and I were going to try and end. There are so many collapses every year, and so many men die. . . it's only luck that Dad isn't one of them so far."

I pat her back reassuringly. "I guess that District 10 is lucky that way – no mines to collapse."

Isabella turns her eyes on me, which are alight with curiosity. "But don't some of those big animals ever kill people?"

"No, not most of the time," I tell her. "Sometimes a bull will get angry and rear . . . but no one hardly ever gets hurt – sometimes a broken bone, but not much."

"Oh," Isabella says. "Well, at least you don't have to work in the mine." Her eyes turned to agony. "They put us in at age 15, so long as we are fit and don't have another job. I would have been in there, if not for Mother and being a seamstress."

"So you're fifteen?" I ask.

"Sixteen," she corrects. "And you?"

"Sixteen," I say with a grin.

She smiles, squeezes me hand, and we fall silent. I like this silence. It feels peaceful and kind. But I break it, all the same.

"Do you like me, Isabella?" I have to fight to keep my voice from shaking.

Isabella smiles and asks, "Like or _like?"_

I smile as well. _"Like."_

She turns and examines me. "Well . . ." she says.

"Well . . ." I tease back, not nervous at all, because I was sure that she was just teasing.

"Yes," she decides. "Yes, you're perfect."

And before I know what's happening, she's leaning forward to kiss me. Our lips meet, and I almost sigh with happiness. She doesn't smell like vanilla, like Dazzle. She smells normal – like a breath of forest air on a hot day . . .

Then she's pulling away, and staring into my eyes, a sparkle there again. "What do you think?" she asks.

"I think," I say, pushing her bangs from her face. "That you're perfect, too."

She sits back down again, and I sit behind her, hugging her.

"What are we going to do?" I whisper.

"What do you mean?" Isabella's sleepy voice asks.

"Is – can I call you 'Is'?" Isabella nods, and I am sure that she's smiling. "Well then, _Is,_ this is the Hunger Games. We can't . . . be in love."

Isabella is silent awhile. "Well, we might as well enjoy it."

I nod and hesitate. "One last thing," I say.

"Yes?"

"Do we tell anyone?"

Isabella, again, waits a moment before answering, "Yes, we should. It will attract sponsors, will it not? And, anyway," she turns to face me. "it's the truth."

"Yes," I am beaming. "Yes, yes it is."


	13. Part 3 Alex

PART 3

Alex 


	14. The Future Victor

I am in the Hunger Games. Exhileration floods through me, putting strength into my bones, confidence into my stride. No tribute can stand against me, not even Careers. Each one falls, one by one, to my superior glory. As I cast down the last faceless Career tribute, a great cheer rises. I have one the 53rd Hunger Games. My family appears, hugging me and cheering. Zak Young, a boy a year younger than me, in training to enter the Games, lingers in the background, smiling shyly at me. I punch him roughly on the shoulder. Ceaser Flickerman asks me what I'm going to do next, and, in answer, I hold up my siblings' hands. "I'm going to train the next victors!"

As so I do. The year following, Maya wins the Games. A few years later, Jacob wins. In between their Games, I help Zak win his own. We end up getting married, and train our children to win the Games, and their children, and their children's children . . . I am the start of a family legacy . . .

I wake to a bright morning. Warm sunlight streams through the open window by my bed. I yawn and stretch, looking idly around the room. It must be near time for breakfast, I decide, and stand to rummage through the closet, which is full of ridiculous dresses and outfits that I have no intention of wearing. It takes a few moments, but I pick a tunic inlaid with gold and silver, the fabric silky green, black leggings, and black boots. Looking in the mirror, I push my messy brown hair out of my eyes, tucked behind my ears. It only reaches my chin, which my mother always seemed to think a shame, but I find practical.

I walk out of the room, and into the dining room. I was right, is time to breakfast. The long line of victors (13 total) sit at the long table, buttering bread and chomping down on the capitol dishes. One of them, Prick, as she insists I call her, is thumping my district partner, Worthing, on the back. He laughs like the idiot he is, and plunges his face into a tart.

I take a seat by Elenia, our guide with green skin, pink eyes, and yellow hair. Today her dress is blue and arranged with real flowers. I don't hide my expression when I see it, though I'm sure it must look ghastly.

I don't eat much, and I don't speak to anyone. They don't try to speak to me either. They know me. They trained me. They know that I know what I'm doing, and that I will not tolerate small talk, which I find a waste of time and energy.

No one accompanies myself and Worthing to the elevator. It stops once to let in the tributes from one. Dazzle greets me with a yawn, and I smirk at her. She punches me in the arm, only half playfully. Her district partner, Mar (short for Marvelous) grins at me, and I give him a confident look.

We meet the tributes from 4 in the room where we ate lunch the day before. The boy, Hon, immediately picks up Dazzle and spins her around, so that she giggles. I meet the gaze of the girl, Jenni, and we both roll our eyes. We all sit down at a table, and make a big show of talking, laughing, and teasing each other.

Of course, it's all show. Through the masks of playfulness, is a real hardened person perfect for the Hunger Games – shaped so by the past victors. We are real killing machines, and no amount of teasing is going to change that. Every one of us has undergone brutal training to get here – to get the chance of glory. I can't speak for Districts 1 and 4, but in District 2, everything is about winning the Hunger Games. Parents have as many children as they can, hoping, hoping that one may win. Children are taken from their homes at age 9, and are put through training. Each undergoes similar situations in their sectors, or 'families' as some prefer to call them. Each cannot sleep deeply for fear of being attacked at night. Each cannot eat or drink freely for fear of poison in the glasses.

At age 11, the battle training begins, in which each child is specialized in a weapon. If a child is completely hopeless, they are sent home to a disappointed family. At age 13, the children are dumped in our 'mock-games' arena, which is just like the real arena, except that children are saved before they can actually die. Instead, they are shamed and sent home. Those few who win are trained sevearly, taking a different test every week. We are put in the bottoms of lakes and made to save ourselves; put in the middle of a forest fire; put up against a pack of victors; battling each other at the Cornucopia. . . and then, of course, every five months there is another Mock-Game. If you lose only one, you are sent home.

It is a great honor to be here. It's all I ever dreamed of doing. My parents are so proud of me, even if my mother would prefer my hair to be shorter. Both cannot wait until I come home victor, and move them into our Victor's Village, and begin to personally train my younger siblings. The future is bright for me. All I have to do is win.

Yet, I think, looking around at the Career pack around me, each of them – Dazzle, Worthing, Mar, Jessi, and Hon . . . each of them must think the same thing. That they're going to be the ones going home. That they're the ones destined for glory and a bright future. That they're going to be the ones the kill the rest.

The truth is, the people that I'm laughing and joking with, are likely to be the biggest threats to me. I'm sure that they all know it, too. I've seen what they can all do during training. I know that it might even be a toss-up as for who might win if I have to fight one of them.

These thoughts are making me uneasy. I hope it doesn't show in my face. I have to keep it together – now more than ever, in front of those wimpy tributes and my fellow Careers. I manage a sneer at the little, nerdy girl from District 3, who squeals loudly, and jumps.

Then they call us in to perform for the Gamemakers, one by one. Mar is first. He jumps up, walks to the door, turns, and gives a bow. "MARVELOUS!" calls Jessi loudly. "YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY _MARVELOUS_!" All of us Careers laugh as the Mar disappears, to perform for the Gamemakers.

I keep joking with the others. We imagine comical things happening to Mar inside – his belt giving way and his pants dropping, or tripping on some water spilled on the floor, to throw a spear at a Gamemaker instead of a target. Hon is snorting his laughter when Mar comes out.

"Do well?" I call to him as he heads over.

He snorts. "Of course, pip squeak."

I pretend to gasp. "Pip _squeak?"_

"Yeah, _squeak,"_ he says, tickling me under the chin. I oblige and let out a little squeak before smacking his hand away. "Anyway," he turns to Dazzle and gives an elaborate bow. "It's your turn, mi'lady."

Practically falling over with giggles, Dazzle went in to the Gamemakers. Mar leaves, as he is supposed to. We'll see him tomorrow at the interviews. Like we did with Mar, we imagine what's happening in the room.

"Probably kissing up," Hon says.

"Oh, yeah, definitely kissing," agrees Jessi, licking her lips and puffing her hair. She grabs Worthing, and plants on right onto his lips. I find myself laughing myself silly at the sight; Worthing doesn't seem to know what to think, which Jessi is, well, very deep in character.

"Like that, sweetie?" Jessi asks in a very good imitation of Dazzle. "What score do you think I should get?"

"Uhhhh . . . huhh . . ." Worthing manages, making Hon and I erupt into snorts.

"Worthing, you're turn," I tell him, motioning to where Dazzle is exiting the room. Dazzle winks and waves at us all, and disappears. "Worthing," I snap, waving my hand before his face. "Go." Worthing blinks several times before getting up and leaving.

"Wowzie," Hon says. I snigger at this – they have such weird expressions in 12! "Jessi, girl!"

"Well," Jessi fluffs her hair and takes on Dazzle's voice. "When you got it, you got it!" I laugh loudly, slamming my hands on the table, which causes Hon to do an imitation of that. We laugh and we laugh and we laugh.

"Look over there," Jessi says, pointing to the table with the silly alliance of Roweena Tailsman at it. The blind boy stares at the wall, sightless and dumb. The tall girl with the long hair is hanging on the boy stupid enough to refuse Dazzle. The redhead is biting her fingernails. Roweena, the short one, is the only one that doesn't appear nervous. When she sees us looking, she smirks.

I smirk in return. "Pathetic," I say.

"I know," Jessi sniggers, "They actually think that they may win."

Hon motions to the tall girl and the stupid boy, who are holding hands tightly. "Dazzle won't be too happy about that."

I shrug. "She was going to kill him anyway. Now . . . it'll just be slower." I smile an evil smile, and I am sure that my eyes are glinting.

Worthing comes out, and motions to me that it's my turn. I stand and stride towards the doors.

"Good luck!" calls Hon after me.

"Luck?" I call over my shoulder. "I don't need luck!"

I walk in to face the Gamemakers with a hand on my hip and a smirk on my face. All eyes snap to me at once and I raise my eyebrows as if to say, "Yeah, I know. I'm pretty impressive, aren't I?"

I head to the non-violent stations, and quickly file grubs and plants as edible and inedible, as well as camouflaging a piece of bright fabric, setting a few snares, and healing a fake wound. I believe that proving I know both basics as well as advanced methods is important, and I'm sure that my fellow Careers won't think to do this. I see it as one way to put my apart from them. I glance up that the Gamemakers, who seem pleased at my skills.

I flick a switch at the more . . . violent stations, and dummies begin to troop around the room. Idly, I pick up an axe, and fling it at a dummy without so much as a glance. The dummy is quickly beheaded. If it had happened to be a real tribute, it wouldn't have even known what had happened, and its fellows wouldn't have had enough time to figure it out before . . .

I calmly threw knives and spears and anything else sharp at the dummies, tearing them apart in gruesome ways, the fake blood spilling to the floor, making it sticky. I risk a glance at the Gamemakers, all of whom look impressed.

I'm running out of time. I grab a triangular dagger and a heavy, flat-edged sword, and turn boldly to the Gamemakers. I point out one surgically-altered man, whom I know to be the weapons expert amongst the group.

"You," I say. "Almer, that's your name, is it not?"

All of the Gamemakers' eyes snap to Almer, who nods slowly, studying me with beady green eyes.

"And you are the weapons master, are you not?"

Almer's eyes narrow considerably, but again, he nods.

"I wish to demonstrate my combats with an actual, living person of considerable talent," I tell him. "Will you honor me and join me?"

Almer glances around the group, who all are looking from me to him with wide eyes. I smile sweetly at one, who looks pretty scared of me. Almer whispers something to another man, who slowly nods. Almer stands and approaches me slowly.

"There is no rule preventing it," his voice is gravelly, and I see now that a dark black tail swooshes behind him, clashing horribly with his orange hair and purple skin. "though I do not believe it has ever been done before." He stops before me "Yes, I will spar with you, but, be warned, if you lose, it will weaken your training score."

I smile sweetly again, and nod. "Yes, of course. What weapon shall you use?"

In answer, he picks up a sword, tosses it to the air, and catches it effortlessly in the opposite hand.

I blink sweetly. "Is that all?"

He laughed, like stones grinding together. "Is that not enough? Trust me, it is enough to beat those whom may even beat you."

I narrow my eyes. Is he insulting me for play or is it taunting? "We'll see about that," I hiss, and I raise my weapons, waiting for him to move. Thus is one of the many things I learned in training. Never, ever, make the first move in a direct fight.

Almer charges me, slicing the weapon dangerously at my face. I could meet his weapon with mine in a fight of force, but he is much stronger than me, and all I would accomplish is breaking my own weapons. Instead, calmly, I push up into the air, flipping up and on top of one of the stations. Almer staggers slightly, taken by surprise, and I jump down onto him, landing directly on his shoulders. He swings his sword in the air and staggers about, trying to knock me off, but I stay balanced. He flings himself to the ground, and I flip off, landing squarely onto my feet.

Almer turns to face me, and laughs. "Impressive. You're good, little squirrel." Squirrel? I crouch slightly, gripping my weapons. How dare he . . . ?

"I'm not a squirrel," I hiss, and charge him, though I shouldn't have made the first move. In my anger, I forgot the rule, and immediately regret it. Almer met my fire with his own, because he has more strength than me. He nearly disarms me of my sword, as I try and stab him. I am sweating, but Almer seems relaxed.

Eventually, I back off a bit, breathing heavily. Almer leans slightly on his sword, laughing. "You've got anger, don't you, little squirrel?" I grunt in anger and throw my knife at him, which he avoids with ease. "See that?" he asks. "You're letting your arrogance get the best of you," he waggles a finger at me. "That might just be you're downfall."

The anger explodes in me, but I'm not stupid enough to try and charge him again. I already learned that that won't work. Instead, I wait for him to charge me, which he does quickly, and soon I'm spinning and jumping and dancing around him, trying to find a way in, but there is none. Almer guards himself well, and every time I go for an opening, my sword is met by him. Eventually, I begin to tire, and when he meets my sword, it goes clattering across the floor.

I stare at it a moment, and then look at Almer, whose sword is pointing at my chest. "It's over, little squirrel," he gravels.

"Not yet, it's not," I hiss, tensing my muscles. I am just about to leap up in a back flip when Almer's leg sweeps mine off the ground, and I land hard on my back, with a grunt. I glance up to see Almer's sword in between my eyes.

"Arrogance," his hissed the warning. "will be your downfall. Now, get out of my sight."


	15. The Face of Defeat

I press my pillow into my face, trying to sop up the wet on it. Why is it there? I haven't cried since I was nine years old – not since I started training. Yet now, in the face of defeat, I am crying. It is silly, of course, even though I have never been defeated until that moment. I was undefeated, and I was going to win the Hunger Games, because no one could beat me.

But now . . . I had been beaten in a fight that I had gone looking for. _Never make the first move . . ._ How stupid of me! I had brought this upon myself in a fatal mistake. If I made one such as that in the arena. . . the victor would become the beaten.

The past victors had tried to speak to me when I had come back to the room, but I had brushed them aside, instead walking to my room, locking the door, lying down on the bed and crying. _Crying._ Elenia tries to come and get me for lunch, but I won't come, saying that I wasn't hungry. Later, I change my mind, and have an Avox bring me some food. I swallow it, bit by bit, my mouth dry. It seems that all of my fluids have leaked out of my eyes.

I take a bath in the warm water, surrounded by sweet-smelling soaps, and try to get a grip on myself. What does it matter that I was beaten once? I am still going to be the victor of the 53rd Hunger Games. I was still going to go home and start a family legacy. . . But last night's dream seems so far away now, while yesterday it had seemed to tangible. My gut was filled with a horrible, sinking feeling of doubt as I saw the face of defeat staring at me.

I stare at the mirror. My face is blotchy and red. My eyes are sunk, my hair wet and tangled. I look like a mess; like a loser, not a victor. I get a sudden picture of messy-haired, red haired and faced Tara Goldsteed, from District 10. She wasn't a victor, most definitely. I begin to wonder if she feels the way I do right now. Does she doubt that she'll ever go home? Does she despair, thinking she'll never see her family again? I remember her twin brother from the Reaping, and then the faces of my siblings, Maya and Jacob. Does she love her twin? Do I truly love my siblings?

In that moment, it becomes clear to me that I might _not_ win the Hunger Games. I might die, and I may never see my family again. I may not start the family legacy, and I may not get married to Zak Long . . . Zak . . . what do I feel for him? Do I love him? Or is he just a prize to attain, as being the victor is?

I eventually get up and out of the bath, still wallowing in my miserable thoughts. Elenia called for dinner long ago, and I still ignored her. Now I wipe the tears from my face, and miraculously, the redness goes away. I put on the green tunic that the confident victor had put on this morning, and head out for the room with the television, where I know everyone is waiting.

"And so she emerges!" Prick calls out. I give her a glare, and plop down on an empty chair, trying to ignore all the eyes on me. "What's going on, beauty girl?"

"Don't call me that," I growl, struck with the memory of Almer taunting me, calling me 'little squirrel.'

"Someone's feisty," another victor, Bea, calls out. I snarl at him. "Make that _very_ feisty."

"What's going on, Alex?" Worthing may be stupid, but even he can pick up that something's not right.

"Nothing," I mutter. "I'm . . . just having some trouble adjusting."

"Some . . ." Bea hesitates. "Second thoughts, maybe?"

I stare at him a moment, and then nod. "Yeah, I guess. Second thoughts."

"It's hard to leave everything behind on a gamble," Bea sympathizes. "Just be confident in your abilities, and you'll be fine."

"We trained you well," Prick adds.

I can't bear to tell them that I blew it. That I'm going to get a low training score because of my own stupidity. That I'm going to let them down. So I simply grunt and fix my eyes on the television. I sense that the victors are all still staring at me, but they glance away when the Capitol's anthem sounds, and the television lights up. I don't listen much to the announcer, but perk up when the pictures of tributes flash by with numbers over them.

Mar got an 8. Not bad, but I expected more. Dazzle got a 10, which surprises me a little, until I remember that she was using the giggling little girl as a mask for the real killer inside. This morning, I had found the though funny and not threatening at all, but now I have to suppress a shiver.

Worthing manages a 7, which is, truthfully, more than I expected. However, the victors don't seem to agree with me, and are giving Worthing sharp looks. He looks a bit uncomfortable.

My face flashes onto the screen. I look so sly and confident – like a slippery little fish. I don't know if that person's even in there anymore. This afternoon seems to have destroyed her and left a little pathetic lump of a person behind.

An 11 appears over my chest. An 11! What are they playing at? I lost to Almer, and they said it would hurt my score! Does that mean that I would have gotten a 12? The thought makes my heart beat again, spreading warmth through my body, and bringing a little bit of my confidence back. I might still be the victor!

The past victors congratulate my quickly, and I beam around at them, suddenly elated. I might still win! I don't pay much attention to District 3's low (as usual) scores, but snap to attention when District 4 appears.

Hon got a 10, which is exactly what I expected from him, and Jessi got a 9. Districts 5, 6, and the boy from 7 all get low scores, and I wouldn't have expected anything else. Roweena from 7, the short girl with the feisty attitude, manages a 7 to match her district number. I wonder what she showed them, and remember her playing around with a sword yesterday. Yes, that must be it.

Districts 8 and 9 get low scores. Tori, the boy who refused Dazzle, from 10, scores an 11 to match mine. Remembering him sparring with Roweena, I think that must be it, and maybe he scored extra in non-violent stations? All the same, the victors are giving me sharp looks, because I tied with someone. I can only shrug. What can I do about it?

Tara, the redhead, surprises me by besting both me and Tori with a 12, the highest score possible. I blink several times in shock, and wonder what she showed the Gamemakers. I saw her clumsily practicing with weapons yesterday, and know that it can't have been that. I was pretty sure that she couldn't have proven exceptional enough with non-violent stations, so what did she do? Unless she was hiding something yesterday . . . yes, that must be it. I put it into my head to beware those messy red locks.

Jacob, the blind boy from 10, scores a miserable 1, which I'm not even sure he deserves. His partner gets a five. The boy from 11 gets a 6, and the tall girl with long hair gets a 9. Her district partner receives a miserable little three. Then the Capitol's seal appears, the anthem plays, and the screen flashes to black.

"Good job, Alex," says Prick. "Just keep that up, and you'll win the Games, easy."

"As for you, Worthing," Bea turns to Worthing with narrowed eyes, the same expression I feared he would be fixing on me right now. Elation rises through me. I'm not the one who failed – Worthing is! "What went wrong?"

"I . . don't know," Worthing's stupid eyes are twisted, trying to remember. "I threw around some weapons until they asked me to leave. . . I think."

Bea sighs. "Well, you're spending the rest of the night training now, got it? And I don't want to hear a word of complaint out of you," he snapped when Worthing opens his mouth.

"You can do whatever you want, Alex," Prick tells me. "You, at least, managed a good training score."

"Thanks," I say. "I think maybe I'll train awhile on the rooftop – run about a bit?" I know that training always puts my mind on the goal of winning the Games, making me really focused. And that's exactly what I need right now. I head to the rooftop, wondering what it was that Tara Goldsteed was hiding that earned her a 12, and why her district partner, Tori Dawn, had earned a score to match mine.

I set off along the cobbled, winding paths of the garden, under the trees and around bushes. I push myself harder than normal, trying to push myself back to the goal. I do, for a brief moment, glimpse it again, but it seems farther away than normal. Only when I am shaking with exhaustion, the lights are out in the sky, and my clothes are soaked with sweat do I stop, disappointed in myself.

"C'mon, Alex. You're the tough Career tribute destined to win the Hunger Games. You're strong and proud and smart, and you're going to crush the rest of the tributes, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it." But I wasn't sure about that anymore. I was . . . scared. I was scared to die. I was scared to lose the Hunger Games. Just like the weak little tributes, who were scared to die . . . I felt connected to them, like I understand them. And that makes me think of them not as the faceless people from my dreams, but as real people like my siblings, Maya and Jacob, and my parents, and Zak . . . and I am suddenly struck with the realization that if I don't stop thinking like this, I won't be able to kill them.

"Get a grip of yourself!" I keep walking, gripping my head in my hands. This won't work – not at all. Tomorrow I have to show Ceaser that I'm going to be the winner, and the day after, I'm in the Games, battling to be the victor. Or was I only battling now to go home and see my family again? Or maybe just for my life? Or can I even fight at all?

I slap myself in the face – hard enough to leave a mark, I think. "You a winner, Alex. Act like one." I try with all my might to picture myself as the victor, training my siblings, marrying Zak . . . it strengthens me in a weird sort of way. I realize with a shock that this must be what is carrying the other tributes – the hope to go home.

I hear rustling nearby, and snap to attention, my fine senses sharpening. Ahead, just visible in the forest-dappled moonlight is a figure, who I sense is gazing at me. Then, suddenly and loudly, like a thunder's crack in the silence, he dives into the bushes, and disappears. I hurry forward, curiosity taking over me, and look into the bushes. I can just make out a figure in the shadows, crouched and quivering with . . . fear?

"G-g-g-go aw-way!" stammers the voice, definitely a young boy's. I think to myself that he could be the boy from District 7, but at that moment, I don't care. It dawns on me just how scared the boy is of me, and I back away slowly, continuing my walk. Is it my imagination, or are my legs shaking as badly as his were?

Further along the path (I don't know how far; my mind has wandered with me a bit), a girl with bushy brown hair is peeking into the bushes. I cannot place her district – maybe three? But I don't see how it matters. She doesn't see me. I could keep walking as though I never saw her . . . but my curiosity wins me over again.

"What are you looking for?" I don't even bother trying for my usual sneer. My voice is full of confusion, fear, and . . . sadness, though I'm not sure why I'm sad. I'm going to win the Games! I should be elated. But somehow, the fact that I'm going to win only makes it hurt more.

The girl doesn't stop rummaging to address me, though I am standing behind her. "The answer." She says.

"The answer to what?"

She stops, turns, looks at me a moment, and then says. "To all questions." Then she walks off the way I came, still glancing into bushes as she goes.

_She's mad._ I think, but something stops that thought. Can I really blame her for going crazy in such conditions? Even I, who has never questioned or lacked in confidence, am starting to doubt the very standards on which my life resides. It's a chilling feeling, and I know I won't be the same after this because of it.

I continue walking, and, after a while, end up at the door leading to the elevator. I blink at it a moment. I could go back to the warm, false security of my bed, and wallow in self-pity there . . . or I could stay out here on the roof, which is getting rapidly colder, so that I am soon shivering despite myself. I choose to stay out here with the wind, and choose a path at random, walking down it slowly. Is this the new me? Cold and fearful and prone to cry at any moment? Is this what the Games have made me?

I haven't walked long when I see the twinkle of candles. Visible to me from about 20 yards away, I see Tori Dawn and the tall girl with long hair, Everdeen, I think, is her last name. They are holding hands and lying down on the ground so that they can stare at the stars, surrounded by a flurry of candles. . .

I find myself thinking that this is so sweet, I almost step forward to join them. But an invisible hand stops me. _They don't like you. _A voice hisses venomously in my brain. _You were snotty to both of them; why would they?_ But why wouldn't I have been mean to them? Thus was my way of communicating, the only way I had learned through all those years of severe training . . . All the same, as I look at Tori and the Everdeen girl, the only thing that I want is to step forward and join them. . . Subconsciously, I do so, but a cold voice stops me in my tracks.

"Don't."

Fear suddenly grips me, ice-cold and foreboding, but I brush it away. With a try at my usual air of ignorance, I turn slowly around, to see Tara Goldsteed standing there, the moon in her eyes and the wind pushing back her messy hair.

"Tara. . ." my voice is hoarse. I clear it, and try a sneer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm sure not the same as you," Tara is frowning at me, studying me. "I'm not planning on terrorizing anyone tonight."

"Neither am I." The words are out before I think them through. Tara raises one red eyebrow, and I smirk and add. "I'm saving it for the Games."

"Ah," Tara doesn't seem convinced, and she squints at me. "Then . . . what were you doing right there?" she motions toward Tori and the Everdeen girl. "Going to . . . join them?"

My heart quickens again. What am I to tell her? But I keep my cool with difficulty, and smirk. "None of your business, though I'm sure you can guess."

Tara narrows her eyes at me. "Do you remember what I told you at the carriages before the parade?"

My eyes narrow as well. Of course I do. "No," I lie nonchalantly.

"I told you that I thought that you were scared," Tara says "of all the tributes. Of the Games. Of dying. Of losing."

I don't reply, though she pauses a long while. Is she trying to taunt me? Is she _asking_ for a bloody death in the arena? My instincts tell me no, and that I should run, but I am rooted on the spot. I can't move. I can't breathe either. I stare at Tara. Can she answer the question that I cannot, so much as I have tried today? Who am I?

"It was very plain to me when I said such to you," Tara continues "that you were very scared, though perhaps you didn't know it yet. But now . . . Alex, I think that you know it, and that you are very, very scared indeed."

I force myself to laugh. I have an image to keep, after all. But the laugh shakes, and breaks after only a few moments. "Me? Scared? I'm a victor, Goldsteed. I'm going to win these Games, and I'm going to go home. Not you. Not Roweena Tailsman. Not Everdeen or Dawn over there. Not any other tribute, or those stupid Careers. Me." Confidence fills me again, brimming over the top.

"I don't think you believe that," Tara's voice is the merest whisper, but the force of the words makes me take a step back.

"You don't know what I think," I say, but my voice is shaking. Inside the bushes, Tori Dawn and the Everdeen girl laugh loudly.

"Do you hear that?" Tara asks. "Happiness. Love. They have it, Alex. Love comes at the weirdest times, and it's hardly ever convenient. I know that you think they're weak, but love strengthens everyone."

"Love?" I sneer. "It's just something that I can use against them in the arena."

Tara shakes her head. "I didn't think that you'd understand. You've never known love, have you? There, I can see it in your eyes. You haven't." She pauses. I don't dare breath, gazing into those avid green eyes. "I can guess your life, Alex," she whispers. "it's all in your eyes. You never had a childhood, did you? You were taken from that life too early . . . too soon . . . it was only a matter of time before the hurt inside caught up to you." She shakes her head. "I pity you, Alex, for the childhood that you never had."

"Pity me?" the anger surges out of nowhere, fueling my steps towards Tara, moving my arms threateningly. "Pity me for a lost childhood? You're still a child yourself!"

Tara nods solemnly. "Yes, sad, isn't it? The Games ruined both of our childhoods." She pauses, as though considering something. "You and I . . . were aren't that different, in truth." I rear back, and though slapped. What was she saying. "If you . . . ever change your mind about the Careers, and you need somewhere to go, my campfire will be waiting," she says. My mind is reeling. Is she offering me to join her alliance?

"I already have an alliance," I sneer "I don't need you." And then I'm running, as fast and far as I can from the girl with the moon in her eyes and the wind in her messy red hair, and the tall girl with the long hair who is lying with the boy with the black hair and the bright, happy eyes.


	16. Gaining Confidence Once More

Fog curls around my ankles, or is it smoke? Weapons clash all around me, with screams to accompany them. I think I recognize some of the voices – Tara's, Tori's, and the girl who holds his hand. Roweena's sounds above them all, loud and clear. I am able to identify the grunts of satisfaction as my fellow Career's.

Then, all of a sudden, the Careers are stepping out of the fog (or is it smoke?) and forming a circle around me. The sounds of battle stop eerily around me, as if all battling are dead. The Careers have dirt and blood streaked on them, and their eyes are screaming of bloodlust and anger . . . all except for Worthing, who is characteristically dumb as normal.

"Alex," the word seems to come from all of them. "Are you with us?"

"Of course," is my immediate response. "You think I'd be with those weaklings?" I force a chuckle, though it's hard.

"Good," they answer. "Now, look."

And suddenly, the fog/smoke lifts, though the chill is still there, and around me are the dead bodies of tributes – gruesomely killed, bodies askew. I spot Tara, whose sightless eyes are locked on the sky, still managing to show the same intelligence that scared me so much, and Tori and the tall girl are lying, still holding hands. Jacob's eyes are sightless as normal, though they have lost their intelligence. Even little Roweena lies, her blood spilling out, and her face in a defiant expression.

"But . . ." I say slowly. "That's all of them. That's all of the other tributes. That means we're" I turn to face them, who are all suddenly armed with weapons. "the final six."

"We are," they answer. "Thanks to you."

"Thanks to . . . me?"

"You delivered their deaths," they motion to the dead tributes all around us. "Every one of them. You didn't even give us a chance."

"But now . . ." I gaze at them, hating the words I have to say. "We are the final six. We have to . . . kill each other."

"We are prepared to do it," they say. "But are you, Alex?"

And then they're all coming at me with sharp weapons, and I don't have anything to defend myself, and nowhere to run or hide. . . all I can do is cover my head with my arms and try to keep from screaming in terror . . .

I am floating in darkness, nothing is there. My throat constricts. . . am I dead? Is this the fate of those who have left life? Living in nothing for eternity . . .? A horrible emptiness fills me. I find myself calling out for help, though I am sure that there is no one near to hear me. Pictures flash before me of the other tributes, horribly marred . . . dead from painful deaths that _I_ had hoped to deliver . . . that, according to the Careers, I had . . .

"Alex!"

I awake with a start to see a victor standing at the door – it's Yvone.

"Yvone?" I say sleepily.

"You were calling out for help," Yvone looks awkward. "Are you . . . are you okay?"

"Yeah," I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "Bad dreams – that's all."

I think I see Yvone's eyes soften momentarily, but I am sure that I must have imagined it. Victors are tough. They don't show emotion often. "Well, today's the interviews. We've got a lot to do this morning. I want you at the breakfast table in 10. Got it?"

I sigh, all thoughts of a long shower gone. "Got it."

Yvone leaves, and I stand and stretch. I stare into the mirror, and think that I've hardly ever looked worse. There are big bags under my eyes, my skin is paler than usual, from under-exposure to the elements. My choppy hair is messy, and my expression wary instead of confident and sly. What is happening to me?

I put back on the green tunic and light pants, not having enough energy and spirit to try and pick out a new outfit. I press a button, and my hair and teeth are brushed, my face washed, and clothes straightened all in a matter of 40 seconds. It erases the bags under my eyes immediately, and I stare at myself a moment. I try my smirk, which I find only half as convincing as normal.

Sighing, I head out to the breakfast table, where all the victors and Elenia are quietly eating. I sit down near Bea, and butter myself some toast, not sure that my stomach can handle much more. I eat it slowly, sipping on a juice made from 'oranges.'

Eventually, Prick clears her throat. She and Bea stand, as Worthing and my own main coaches. "So, here's the drill," Bea says. "the Interviews are this evening, as I'm sure you all know." There is a general murmur of assent. "Alex and Worthing have already learned what the other trainers shall be spending the day working on with their tributes." He grins. "This means that we have an advantage."

"We generally use this time to train," Prick says. "And, as Worthing proved last night before the Gamemakers, some more training would not hurt."

"We will be in one of the larger dining areas on level 'D'," Bea continues. "I expect both of you," he indicates both me and Worthing. "In there in 30 minutes, stat. Got it?"

"Got it," I answer immediately, and Worthing nods dumbly.

"Lastly," Prick says, her voice stern and solemn, "Understand that this is your last chance. This is your last chance to prepare yourself for your dream. This is your last chance to prepare to win." She yells the next words, jumping out of her chair, purposefully making it fall to the floor so that Elenia flinches. "ARE YOU READY?"

Worthing and I both jump from our chairs, allowing them to clatter down as well. "YES, MA'AM! WE ARE READY!"

Bea, too, jumps up and yells, "AND WHAT ARE YOU READY FOR?"

"TO WIN!" The words are what I want, so, so badly. But can I do it? I'm not sure anymore. Maybe Yvone senses this, because she jumps up and shouts.

"SHOW ME THAT YOU MEAN IT!"

"I WANT TO WIN!" I scream, closing my eyes tightly, imagining myself winning, the glory of the dream coming back to me. "I WANT TO WIN! I WANT TO WIN! I WANT TO WIIIIINNNN!"

Another trainer, King, jumps up. "PROVE THAT YOU WILL!" he challenges.

I want to prove it so badly. I want to jump up and I want to push him to the floor and punch him, just to prove that I can win. . . but I can't move. I have been taught that I must prove it with my words, or my looks, while Worthing may use physical contact. Worthing flings himself at Elenia, perhaps thinking that he has the best chance fighting her. Elenia screams at the imact, falling to the floor, and letting Worthing tackle her. She stops moving. I think that she has fainted.

I fix my eyes on King, because he is the one that requested me to prove it. Suddenly feeling much more like myself, I smirk, place my hands on my hips, and say quietly, "I can." I know it will only take those two words. I put all my smirk and confidence into them, and King nods his quiet approval.

"ARE YOU READY TO TRAIN?" screams another victor, Ryliee.

"YES!"'

"I DON'T HEAR YOU!" taunts Chinn

"YES! I WANT TO TRAIN! I WANT TO WIN!"

"IS THAT A QUESTION OR A MISSION?" demands Burr

"A MISSION!"

"THEN SHOW ME!" screams Heron

"I AM GOING TO WIN! I AM GOING TO WIN!" I am glad that the victors chose this excersize. It is exactly what I needed to get back to myself. "I AM GOING TO WIN!"

"LOUDER! LOUDER! LOUDER!"

Louder and louder and louder Worthing and I chant the words, "I am going to win!," even though I know that we both can't. But it doesn't matter at the moment. Anyway, Worthing's too dumb to win.

"Good," Prick says when she's satisfied. Worthing and I immedietly fall silent. "So that's15 minutes now, stat. Understand?"

"YES, MA'AM!"

"Good," Prick smiles an actual, genuine smile, and Worthing and I take that as a dismissal.

"Come on, Worthing!" calls Prick. "That's the sixth time!"

Worthing and I are facing off with swords, Worthing's specialty weapon and one of my weakest. I spin it again, having pinned him to the ground with the sword at his throat, and his weapon far away on the floor.

"We trained you better than that, Worthing!" calls Izz, who is standing on her feet and tapping one foot angrily.

"Good, though, Alex," King says. "I wish we had a better opponent for you. For the time being, however," he sighs, and motions for me to back away from Worhting. "Again."

Again and again, I beat Worthing. The victors are becoming quickly exasperated, and finally, Joyd explodes,

"All right! We don't have all year to work on this. Moving on."

We move on to the archery section, which isn't my own or Worthing's strong point. I manage to hit randomly moving dummies pretty well, which Burr announces to be one of my best attempts. Worthing, however, misses all but once where he hit the dummy in the heart. But, by his shocked expression, I think that his fingers must have slipped and moved the arrow to the right location.

Knives were next – my specialty. Quizz suggests that we arm moving dummies around me so that I'll have to fight my way out. I spin, twist, stab, and throw knives at the dummies, and soon they are all useless pieces of scrap, with fake blood pouring out of them. Worthing does fairly, though nowhere as well as me.

We try out spears, which I find more clumsy than knives, but usable. Worthing never has been good at using them. He has an odd tendency to break them.

"WORTHING!" screams Chinn "YOU DO REALIZE THAT YOU ARE GOING INTO THE ARENA TOMORROW, DON'T YOU?"

Worthing mutters his apologies, and Chinn demands that he uses his broken spear for the rest of the session, which, by my opinion, doesn't improve his aim whatsoever.

Tridents. We don't practice with these much, as any available ones will go to District 4 tributes, but Heron thinks it's a good idea, so we do it anyway. I personally think that Worthing and I are horrible at using them, but Burr announces that our efforts are "acceptable."

Slingshots are an unusual choice, too, but we work on them dutifully. "After all," chimes Ryliee, "You never know what you may be armed with in the arena. Best not take any chances." I am more skilled at using a slingshot than a bow, and so is Worhting.

Next, the trainers reveal a new installment to the dining room – temporary, of course – just for today. A giant, glass pool of water, about 3 or 400 feet deep. Just looking at it makes me gulp. I have never been the best swimmer, and neither has Worthing.

It is Joyd's job to put Worthing and me, one by one, countless times, in a compartment at the bottom. We have the count of three, and then water is everywhere. We have to either swim to the top, or become unconscious so that the trainers can rescue us.

"Good, both of you," Ryliee says after Worthing and I both make it to the top many times, lungs bursting, chests heaving, and shivering.

"Time for lunch," King announces. "We'll be eating in the room to the left, with Districts 1 and 4. Afterwards, we'll be training with them so that you can have a taste of each other's talents. Understand?"

"YES, SIR!"

"Good," Bea says, and turns to Prick. "Have they worked hard enough to earn food?"

Prick looks grim. "Alex has."

"All right, Worthing!" calls Joyd. "You'll be staying to get some extra practice with me. Okay?"

"YES SIR!" Worhting doesn't look too enthusiastic about this idea, but he manages to hide it, as we have both been trained to do.

"C'mon, Alex," Ryliee links arms with me, going from trainer to big-sister mode. "Let's go eat."


	17. The Training Session

It seems to me that the tables are very separated. The victors (almost 50 in all) are sitting on one end of the table, and us five tributes are sitting at the other, a few chairs separating us from the victors (and trainers). All of us gulp ravenously down the food that the Avoxes bring us. It seems, to me, to have been days and days since breakfast. Days and days since that horrible dream . . . I feel myself again. I have no reason to fear the Games.

Us Careers make no talk during the beginning of the meal, until Hon takes a chance and says, "So, what do you think of those training scores?"

Mar flinches as though visibly struck, and I know that he is remembering his less-than-superior score from the night before. While I may have felt sympatric for him yesterday, now I wish for nothing else than to smirk at him. He is unworthy, obviously. Winners are worthy. Like me.

"_I_ at least managed an 11," I say, putting as much stress as I can in the words. "Personally, I think I could have done better, though . . ."

"But you were beaten out," Dazzle is quick to point out "by that girl from 10. The one with the red hair. What was her name . . .?"

"Tara," I say curtly, my mind flashing back to the night on the rooftop.

"Right." Dazzle's lip curls. "Beaten you out, eh? How does that feel?"

I open my mouth to spit out a remark, but Jessi beats me to it. "Oh, shut up, Dazzle. She beat you out, too. She beat _everyone_ out. Besides, you know who else beat _you_ out, Dazzle? Tori Dawn, the boy that was too good for you."

Dazzle's face transformed into that of a beast's. "Are you saying. . ."

"Yes," Jessi shrugged. "An untrained boy and a small girl beat you out. Beat us _all_ out."

"But . . . why?" asks Hon.

I hesitate. "Were you watching them in the training session yesterday?" I ask carefully. I receive four shakes of the head.

"I saw them at the knives," offers Hon. "None of them were particularly good . . ."

I shake my head. "No, I meant at the swords. I saw Tori sparring, and . . . he's good. Really good."

"Could we beat him?" Jessi asks immediately.

"Alone?" I ask. "I could, but . . . certain people . . . might not be so lucky." All four of our gazes fall upon Mar, who blushes deeper and pretends to be very interested in his 'key lime pie'.

"Shame, then," Hon shakes his head "that Dazzle's little . . . plan didn't work."

"Yes," I say. "What a shame."

"Would've been valuable," Jessi agrees.

Now Dazzle is just as red as her district partner. "Oh, please. I would've succeeded if not for that . . . _thing"_ she spits the word venomously "from District 12."

"Pretty, isn't she?" Jessi asks calmly. Dazzle spits venomously, and Jessi laughs. "I'm just kidding, Dazzle. Honestly, lighten up."

"I didn't find it funny," Dazzle says venomously, and Hon and laugh at the look on her face.

"Tributes!" calls one of the victors from the other end of the table. I think it's one from District 4, but I can't be sure.

"Yes!" we all echo from our own end. I think with wonder that we were all trained so similarly.

"Come!"

We all jump up at once, and follow the mentors back into the training room, where Worthing is sitting, panting, on a bench. He is soaked in sweat and looks, through his stupidity, completely miserable and humiliated. Joyd stands from his spot on the bench, no sweat on his clothes, and seemingly completely at ease, as though back from an afternoon walk.

Worthing stands, somewhat shamefully, and trundles over to us. "Afternoon, Worthing," Dazzle coos, polite and sweet as ever. Worthing grunts slightly in acknowledgement.

I think about making a comment to Worhting to gloat over the fact that he had to train while I was relaxing and enjoying another delicious, Capitol meal, but before I can, the victors have us come out onto the floor.

"Tributes, are you ready for the Hunger Games?" calls Prick

"YES!" scream all of us, and, though I may be imagining it, I don't hear a word come from Worthing's mouth as we begin the familiar cheering exercises.

"But do you have the skills?" calls a victor from 1.

"YES!" Hon, Jessi, and I call. Dazzle and Mar call back in what must be the way they were trained, "I HAVE SPENT MUCH TIME ON THIS. I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN MY TRAINER'S SKILLS. I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN MY FELLOW'S SKILLS. I HAVE CONFIDENCE IN ME." Worthing doesn't utter a peep, though I think he is mouthing the words.

"Do you have confidence in each other, even those not from your district?" asks a victor from 4.

"YES!" Mar, Dazzle, and I call. Jessi and Hon cry, "WE TRUST IN THEIR TEACHER'S SKILL TO TEACH THEM ALL THEY KNOW, AND WE TRUST THAT THEY LEARNED FROM THEIR TEACHERS. IT IS IN THIS TRUST THAT WE DRAW OUR STRENGTH." I realize that I feel slightly abashed that both other districts have used special words that I don't know, and I hope that Bea will call out one for us.

Bea does not disappoint. The cheer he chooses isn't complicated – it is used mostly for the ten year old children, but it is repeated occasionally through later years.

"FEET!"

"ARE TOGETHER!" I scream the words. I'm not sure if Worthing is cheering anymore, or what Mar, Dazzle, Hon, and Jessi are screaming in response to the words. I can't hear anything over my own screaming.

"ARMS!"

"STRAIGHT!"

"STOMACH!"

"IN!"

"CHEST!"

"OUT! I HAVE PRIDE!"

"SHOULDERS!"

"BACK! I AM A PROFESSIONAL!"

"CHIN!"

"UP! I AM BETTER THAN THE GROUND!"

There is a slight pause. I stay in my stance of upmost defiance, glaring at the sky. Then, Prick's voice calls, "Worhting!"

Worthing mutters something like "Ma'am" but I can't be sure that's what he's saying. I keep my posture. Worthing had this coming at him.

"That's five laps, Worthing!" barks Prick. "I'm not messing around with you today! Make it quick, too, or I'll give you fifty!"

I don't break my posture as Worthing runs around the training room five times, stopping periodically to do push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, lunges, and other stretches. When five are done, he stands next to me, and I know he is suppressing pants.

Prick appears satisfied with how quick Worthing has done the laps, and does not assign him fifty more. Bea, however, snaps,

"Show me posture, Worthing!"

Worthing huffs slightly and straightens up. Many moments pass. I don't move an inch. Neither does Wrothing. I can't see the other tributes, but I am sure that they don't either, or their mentors would call them out on it. Finally, a voice that I don't recognize calls,

"At ease."

We all straighten out. I see that the other tributes don't, but I feel no shame as I begin to stretch out my muscles. I don't want to get cramped, and hinder my abilities.

The mentors arrange us on the floor, so that I am facing off against Dazzle, Worthing against Hon, and Jessi and Mar. We were each handed weapons. I receive my triangular dagger and flat-edged sword. "You may begin," a victor announces.

I stare a moment at Dazzle, waiting for her to attack. She holds only a small, light, and surprisingly short and stubby dagger. But I don't believe for an instant that she can't use it. The look in her eyes has lost its innocence. Instead, it is calm, assessing, and cold. I am sure that it is similar to the way I look.

We both wait a long moment for the other to move. I realize that she, like me, has been instructed not to take the first move. So, I decide to do something incredibly risky with my fighting skill. I fake her out, rushing at her with a scream. Trying not to imagine the sharp point of that dagger against my skin, I continue charging at Dazzle, ducking aside at the last moment. I can feel the air stinging slightly behind me where she swiped at me. I whirl around and bring my sword through air. Dazzle has disappeared. With a flick of the sword, I spin slowly in a circle, and find Dazzle perched on top of the archery station, with an arrow pointed at my heart.

I reacted naturally, with razor sharp instincts. As she let the first one loose, I duck and roll left, leaping up and jumping to avoid the next, and begin a complicated series of spins and leaps across the room while Dazzle continues to launch arrow after arrow after me. Slowly, she begins to get a feel for my moves, so I have to change them quickly, so that I'm not even really thinking, just reacting. Then, suddenly, mid-leap, I launch the triangular dagger into a deadly arch aimed straight at Dazzle's heart.

I spin to stand on the ground, gripping my sword, and just catch sight of Dazzle lifting a blade to deflect mine. She flips down, and we begin to dance about the floor. I'm not aware of much else around me, only Dazzle as she flips and twirls and dances, trying to get her dagger through my defenses, but not managing much except tiring us both.

Eventually, Dazzle makes her mistake. So intent upon trying to harm me, she forgets for one split second to cover herself. She recognizes the mistake immediately and begins to cover it, but I have already taken advantage, twirling the dagger out of her hand and thrusting, forcing her to stumble back, her back to the archery station. I see her begin to move her arms, reaching for a bow, so I swipe at her, forcing her away from the station. I can see the anger in her eyes. It is over. She is defeated.

"Wonderful, Alex, Dazzle," calls Prick. I blink and lower the sword slowly, watching Dazzle carefully. She backs up, looking down at her hands a moment. Then, she looks up and meets my eyes. She gives a sharp jerk of her head and I return it. I would have never guessed she was so capable of attack. I guess looks are deceiving.

I glance over at the other tributes. Their sparings complete, they are sitting on benches watching Dazzle and me carefully. I can tell by their postures who won. Hon beat out Worthing, which wasn't really a surprise. And Mar beat Jessi.

The trainers organize new sparrings. I spar with Hon, who is nearly as good as Dazzle proved to be. I beat him, quicker than I did Dazzle, though with much difficulty. Worthing loses to Jessi, and Mar triumphs over Dazzle.

I spar with Jessi, whose skill with a trident is uncountable. All the same, when I get ahold of a bow, it is short time before I wear her out, and pin her to the ground. Worthing loses to Mar, and Hon to Dazzle.

Then I am sparring with Mar, who is by far the best of them all. By this point, we're all panting and huffing, trying to get adequate breaths. Mar, I discover, appears to be using the tough approach, with a few tricks up his sleeve. At first, he is pushing me all around as I am completely defensive. But then, as I begin to get a feel for his style, I slowly push back, adding a bit of attack to my defense, and I discover that his defense is hardly existent. With this helpful fact in mind, I soon have him backed to a wall, my sword at his heart.

The trainers seem pleased, and allow us to head back to our rooms, hanging back themselves to talk of something or other, significant or no. Us tributes huff and puff our way to the elevator, not exchanging words. There is a sort of understanding between us now, now that we know what the others are capable of. There is no need for words, not at the moment, even if we had the breath to say them.

Dazzle and Mar get off at one, facing the elevator as the doors closed. Just before they did, they both gave a sharp nod and turned. The last sight I had of them was their backs.

When Worthing and I got out of the elevator, Worhting walked down the hall without a backward glance. I, however, turned to glimpse Jessi and Hon's faces as the door closed.


	18. The Interviews

I am dressed in a magnificent gown, smiling and laughing without a care in the world. Jessie catches my eyes and our laughter sounds above the crowd's wild applause. A couple of tributes look unnerved and even a bit angry at how comfortable we are, considering we are going into the Games tomorrow. A few glares make them look away quickly and shudder, however, and the problem is gone. Well, most of it, anyway. Roweena and her silly alliance do not look away, with the acception of the blind boy, Jacob, I think, is his name.

Ceaser Flickerman flounces onto the stage, smiling and waving like the rest of us. He is arranged in the colors of this year's Game, green. He gives the impression of green flames flicking across the stage. Flickerman, I think, an odd name. Funny how I never thought of that before. Does it symbolize his ever-changing personality? I shake this from my head as Ceaser makes a few jokes before calling Dazzle up.

Dazzle's gown fits her well - too well, which is entirely the point. I spot more than one youth in the crowd gripping the arms of his chair tighter. Many are shameless and begin to catcall to her, which causes a rucus that wastes almost thirty seconds of Dazzle's three mintutes. She makes up for it well, though, by blowing kisses to the crowd and keeping a seductive look on her face. I see one boy faint when she meets his eyes. Yes, Dazzle is playing this role well.

When the noise finally settles, Ceaser jumps in to ask Dazzle some questions, first about District 1 and her family. But it quickly becomes obvious that Dazzle doesn't want to talk about this, rather, her gown. Ceaser finally asks, "So, Dazzle, who is the special boy back home?"

Dazzle smiles seductively, and several people, tributes included, squirm in their seats. "I don't know about _boy," _Dazzle's voice is low and has many boy's hands flying to their belts. "I have several that I meet with often."

"You might have several more to meet with after tonight," Ceaser remarks, nodding to the crowd. Dazzle laughs, managing to sound cheerful and seductive at the same time.

"That's the idea," she says, rearanging herself on her seat so that even more shows. "I think I will simply _have _to meet everyone who sponsers me after I win."

"What about me?" Ceaser pouts. He looks quite comical with his green hair pouting like that.

She laughs. "We'll have another interview, of course, Ceaser. Maybe we can be a bit more ... _personal _next time." Her smile is so dazzling that I understand why she is named Dazzle. I see no trace of the killer girl I fought this morning.

Her timer goes off - too soon for many a boy in the audience. She struts back to her seat, taking the perfect amount of time, and even bending over a bit to adjust her stockings. I notice that several people have to be led out of the audience because they are in such a state. I glance at Dazzle, now sitting, turns to triumph for a second.

Mar goes up. He's nothing special compared to Dazzle. The poor boy just can't compete. The only truely memorable part of his interview was when he explained his name, "When my dad heard I was born, he exclaimed, "Marvelous!" and the nurse took it that he wanted that to be my name. By the time him and Mom found out, it was too late to change it. At first, my mom was angry, but it soon became clear that my name fit me _very _well." This is followed by a laughable scene where Ceaser and Mar take turns pronouncing 'Marvelous,' while stressing the 'ar' with absolute absurdity. Then Mar's buzzer rings, and I am taking his place.

"So, Alexis," Ceaser begins.

"Alex," I cut him off. "Call me Alex." I made a face. "Alexis is too girly."

Ceaser laughs. "And what's that?" he asked, nodding to my gown. I am wearing a floor length midnight black gown dotted with diamonds. When I move shadows seem to play across me. My stylist had thought it matched my personality perfectly, and he was right. The gown helped remind me of who I was, making me confident for the interview, while other tributes shivered in fear and reviewed lines their mentors had told them to use.

"Dark," I answer, moving the gown slightly so that the diamonds reflect the light. Some envelope shadow and immediately wink out. Others become blinding white, and even I cannot stand to look at them. "It fits me, don't you think?"

"Why, Alexis, you wouldn't ever be so dark." he uses my real name teasingly.

"Alexis wouldn't," I agreed. "But Alex..." I trail off suggestively before continuing, "but Alex is." I catch a glimpse of myself, and I have an evil glint in my eye. "Better watch out, Ceaser," I warn. "I am unpredictable and uncontrollable." Ceaser makes a show of scooting away from me in terror. When this grows old, he asks me what I think of my fellow tributes.

"Pathetic," I answer. "Especially Roweena Tailsman and her little alliance. They think they're so skilled and mighty, but they have no idea. They won't survive the bloodbath." The cameras search out Roweena's face, which is red with anger.

"Roweena has an alliance?" Ceaser sounds fairly surprised. He must not have been notified. "Who is in it?"

I wave my hand dismissively. Since when is this _their _interview? "Redhead from 10 and her partner, blind boy, and long legs over there," I nod to 12 girl, who also looks angry. In fact, Tara and Jacob are the only two that aren't bubbling over with rage. Quick to return the conversation to me, I continue, "but Dazzle, Mar, Hon, and Jessi are great."

"Are they as dangerous as you?" Ceaser teases.

"Not even close," I smile.

Ceaser askes, "What about your district partner, Worthing?"

I wish I could tell Ceaser the truth about Worthing, that he's useless and an idiot and worse, but I know the mentors would kill me. "Worthing and I have known each other forever. He's like, one of my oldest friends. I'm glad to have him as my district partner." I smile, completing the smooth lie. Ceaser smiles and pats my hand hesitatingly.

Time is running out. "What are your stratagies for the arena?" Ceaser wants to know.

I glance to my mentors. Any real, honest answer will have me punished. So I go with all I really know for sure. "To win." As Ceaser laughs, the buzzer goes off, and I go back to my seat.

Worthing goes up. His act of tough-guy and killing-machine is almost laughable. If the cameras weren't there, I may have chuckled aloud. Nothing he says has any real substance - he'll only be remembered because he's a Career, and my district partner.

Three's interviews are silly. Both tributes attempt to impress the people with their knowledge of machinery, but it is not impressive. I glance over at Hon during the boy's interview, and he yawns. Jessi catches my eye and nods to Dazzle, who has arranged herself on her chair so that her legs are propped up, giving the audience quite a view, and her eyes are slowly sliding closed. To be honest, I think more people are watching her than District 3. I even see a few cameras turn to her.

Finally, three ends, and Jessi struts up. She's playing confident, like me, but a little more charm to the side. She plays it rather nicely, giving Ceaser the dish on her family, and even bagging some tributes a bit. Of course, she doesn't dare bag us Careers. We'd kill her. Literally. She leaves the stage with but one comment of us - Hon. "He's a lovable little boy, as I am sure you'll find. Quite the looker, too," and she winked.

Hon is playing his charm. His compliments of the Capitol are so fluid, so graceful, it's hard to remind myself that it's an act. He moves with grace through the interview, joking and complimenting. By the end of his interview, it's hard not to be in love with him. Not for me, of course. I am different.

After that, I don't pay much attention to the tribute's interviews. Rather, I find myself thinking of ways to kill them all, slowly. I find weaknesses easily - slow reaction, an old leg injury that may act up, lazy eye ... it's too easy, really. Training was a bigger challenge. I glance up at the mentors, and smirk easily as District 6 goes on about his little sister. _You prepared me well. I will do you glory._

Roweena Tailsman shows no sign of hesitation as she walks her short self up to the seat by Ceaser. When she sits, her feet don't touch the floor, and she looks almost comical sitting next to tall Ceaser with glowing green eyes. Her gown is green as well, and they could almost be a matching pair for it.

"Roweena," Ceaser begins, "I think we're all thinking the same thing. Tell us what it's like to be vertically challenged." Most of the audience looks confused at these words, but it is quickly told that Ceaser means her height.

"Short," she corrected him. "It's okay, Ceaser, I don't mind. I'm short, I'm a dwarf, I'm tiny." she puts her fingers a few inches apart to signify her height. The crowd laughs softly. "And, well, it's okay, I guess." She pushes back her curled bangs and leans in to Ceaser. "Ceaser," she said. "I think we're all thinking the same thing. Tell me what it's like to be non-vertically challenged." The crowd roared with laughter at the dumbfounded look on Ceaser's face. I roll my eyes. How are they thinking that this _thing _is so charming?

"But," Roweena announces when the laughter stops. "I don't want anyone thinking that I am not a competitor because of my height. I am just as strong as the others - if not, more." She glances pointedly back at me. "And that goes for the rest of my alliance as well."

"Ah, yes, the alliance," Ceaser is quick to keep the conversation moving. "Let's see - who's in it? Tara Goldsteed and Tori Dawn from District 10 ... Isabella Everdeen from District 12 ... and Jacob Turner from District 11?"

"Yep," Roweena is smiling again. "In fact, I feel a little left out. And not just because of my height."

Ceaser's green eyebrows furrow. "Why ever so?"

Roweena let a moment pass before saying, "I'm in District 7. Not 10, 11, or 12." It takes the audience a moment to figure out that she's counting, and they roar in laughter. I am stunned. That wasn't even funny! "No, really," Roweena says. "they are amazing. I knew I wanted to be Tara's partner the first time I saw her."

"Really?" Ceaser seems intrigued.

"Yes," Roweena answered, a distant look in her eye. "there was something in her eyes that told me, _this girl is here to win. Looks like your kind of person._ Her brother seemed the same way. I'm not complaining, of course, that Tori's here. Probably better, anyway. This way Tara doesn't have to worry about her twin."

"What about the other two, Isabella Everdeen and Jacob Turner?"

"Isabella is amazing," Roweena answered. "Fun, easygoing, and" she winked "quite dangerous when she wants to be. As for Jacob, he is much more than he seems."

Ceaser looks interested. "What do you mean by that?"

Roweena smiles mysteriously. "You'll have to ask him." Then she tells Ceaser that her mother and two uncles are her only family, and that, yes, they are of normal height. She hopes their proud of her. She promises she'll win - to her family, to the other tributes, to the Capitol, to Ceaser, to herself. Then her timer went off, and she returned to her seat.

Her district partner is really quite pathetic. Shelton, I think Ceaser called him, is really trying to play likable and fun, but it couldn't be more obvious that he was scared to death. A lull settles back over the crowd. Nothing interesting here.

Nine rolls by with nothing interesting. I mentally jolt myself awake as Tara walks up. The young girl has a light gown covering her, with a modest V-neck, and a genrous (but reasonable) train. I am vaguely reminded of her chariot outfit, with its moving nature about her. Her stylist seems to be going for the same theme. This gown also has moving animals, plants, water, and other parts of nature on it, but instead of capturing the graceful, domestic parts of nature, it now shows the wild. On the dress itself, monsoons pour, forests blaze, and tornadoes dance. A hurricane batters itself at a small, beaten fishing village. I spot Jessi staring at it. Does it remind her of home? The train, in her wake, is peaceful and slower moving, like her gown on the chariot.

Everyone seems entranced by the gown. Personally, I cannot take my eyes off a midnight panther that I cannot help feel that I have start resemblence to in this gown. She stalks her prey carefully, and suddenly pounces. The prey's, a buck's, blood flows into the dark, steadily flowing river.

I miss the beginning of Tara's interview, I am so entranced by the gown. I tune in just in time to hear Ceaser, "Wow, Tara. Your outfit is amazing."

Tara smiles genuinely in response. She pushes her bangs of her long, blood-red and undone hair (I doubt it was even brushed) behind her ears, and I get one of my first clear looks at her face. It has not been adorned as much of the tributes has, in the fashions of the Capitol. It does not have even the dark swirls and dots that adorn all of my showing skin. Her nose is a bit stubby, but her eyes are wide and show much emotion. She will be a beautiful woman some day, I find myself thinking. Then I mentally slap myself. She will be dead within the week.

"Thanks, Ceaser," she said. "You, too. Green really suits you."

"What, me?" he gestures to himself. "You're too kind, really. Next to you, I'm a blank wall."

Tara makes a face. "Everyone loves you, though."

"That's only because they don't know you," Ceaser reassures her. "And they want to, right?" The crowd called out reassurances, and Tara smiled, not concealing her nervousness. I narrow my eyes slightly - how did she gain the favor of the crowd so quickly. "See?" Ceaser asks. "So, let's tell them something about you. What about your brother?"

Tara smiles slightly at the mention of her brother, not tearing up like the others would. "Matthew, yes, is my twin. And no, he isn't anything like me. He's the jokester and adventurer."

"And you are?" Ceaser prompts.

"I ..." Tara hesitates. "I'm the animal-lover." After a short moment of Ceaser and the crowd asking, she added, "I started working with the baby animals in the pastures when I was six," she answered. "A bit after my parents died." It is amazing how easily she says these words. "I felt an immediate connection to the animals. They seemed to understand me, and me them. They ... flocked to me. They still do." She looks down slightly, as though embarrised by these words. "They're my friends."

"Your only friends?" askes Ceaser. "What about the other girl - in the blue dress, Reaping Day?"

"That's Leah," Tara smiles. "We've been friends since we were little."

"She seemed a bit odd," Ceaser mused.

Tara's face turned surprisingly vicious. "She's not. She's completely normal." Ceaser turns the conversation around quickly as I muse Tara's severe change in personality.

When Ceaser asks her about what she plans on doing in the arena, Tara hesitates. "Ummm... the animals will help me, if I can make contact with them. I know that. And, um, I'll stick with Tori, Roweena, Jacob, and Isabella." When Ceaser asked about weopons, she answered, "Matthew taught me an awful lot about slingshots and playing tricks. I think ... I think it was his way of trying to protect me." She smiled wistfully at the thought.

"What would you say to him if he were here now?" Ceaser wonderes.

"I'd tell him not to worry about me," she answered without hesitation, "and Auntie to give some treats to the animals. And Leah to take care of them. I'm sure she's doing a great job, just like she promised. And that I love them all." Her buzzer goes off, and, with a swirl of movement, she returns to her seat. Tori Dawn replaces her.

"So, Tori, you volunteered for Tara's brother, Matthew. Why?"

Tori's face immediately becomes guarded. "I felt bad for them. I mean, twins ... that _couldn't _have ended up well, could it?"

"No," Ceaser agreed. "But surely there must be more to it."

I can see Tara, out of the corner of my eye, leaning forward, looking interested. Tori seemed torn. "Well, you see, I haven't exactly ... I never really ... even told Tara yet."

"Tell us now," Ceaser encouraged. "she can hear, and her brother, too."

Tori hesitated, but he's backed into a corner. He sighs, and spills the whole story. He explains the deadly desiase, the White Wing, as he calls it. "Or," he says "the Grey Smoke, or Silent Death. It took the lives of many of my district, until the Capitol interfered. Even the animals were infected. I think this is how my father first encountered the disease." He tells how no doctor would come, but Doctor Goldsteed, whom he revealed to be Tara's father. I study Tara's shocked face carefully. Is this story true, or simply a cleverly played ruse? He explains how, one by one, ever member in his large family fell prey to the disease, and how he was the only one left. He finishes by carefully describing a final visit from Mrs. Goldsteed, who revealed that the doctor was sick. "I found, years later, that they both had died. I felt so bad ... " he trails off. "I watched Tara and her brother carefully, but never spoke to them. My guilt was too strong. I found I wanted to repay that debt ... and, when the situation arouse..."

"You volunteered for Matthew," Ceaser whispers. Tori nods, eyes locked on his lap. His eyes are clouding with ... tears? If this is a ruse, it is very well played. "And what of Tara?" Ceaser wants to know. "How can you repay her?"

"Keep her alive," Tori answered, and he glances at Tara, his eyes full of determination. His buzzer goes off.

District 11 girl is quite a drag after him. She stutters about the plants she helps harvest, and completely ignores the factor of the Hunger Games, and talks only about home. Then, the blind boy, Jacob Turner, comes up. He reassures Ceaser that he is not completely useless, but nothing he says has much substance. He does reveal that he can heal, and that his senses (other than his useless eyes) are sharp. I groan inwardly. Roweena's alliance is appearing much too interesting, much too strong. They're taking away the Career's sponsers!

Isabella Everdeen from 12 walks up. She does quite well, telling Ceaser that she can use a bow adeptly. She also admits to being in love with Tori. The crowd gasps, though I show no emotion. Of course, I already knew. She plays the part of heroine and martyr quite well, and reassures them that Tori returns her affections. She is proud of him for his dedication to Tara's family, and promises to spend all the time she can loving him.

I can barely stop myself from actually shaking my head. Though Roweena's alliance is really quite pathetic, they played their cards perfectly. They are a band of underdogs; the blind, the short, the loving, and the young, but they manage to appear relateable and strong at the same time. They are more memorable than even the Careers. I suck a quiet breath through my teeth. I'll have to kill them quickly, to remind everyone who's in charge in the arena.

The boy from 12 is playing tough, but, compared to my and Jessi's acts, it is nothing. Then, the crowd stands, and claps and cheers. I sit there, motionless as a statue, and small smirk unrolling onto my face. I have to appear strong, even if I'm beginning to doubt myself inside again. I remind myself of the victoirious dream. I _will _win.

And then the lights fade, and blackness is all around.


	19. Part 4 The Games

PART 4

The Games


	20. Let the Games Begin!

Roweena Tailsman

The night is passed in a haze of worry and fear. I don't sleep at all, tossing and turning in my bed. I could be dead in the next 24 hours. This very well could be my last night out of the arena not in a wooden box. I know Tori and Isabella aren't even attempting to sleep. Doubtlessly, they are in the bushes on the rooftop again, savoring every moment with each other as the rest of us toss and turn below them. Somehow, this gives me enough comfort to drift off into fitful sleep.

I wake early the next morning, saying goodbye to Ron Eversleeping, my mentor. I can't speak steadily anymore, worry overcoming me. He only pats me on the shoulder and says, "Go get 'em Row," I am too frightened to even protest his silly nickname for me.

I leave with my stylist, Claud Writ, an overdone Capitol man with a mediocre sense of style. It's no surprise that he is assigned to District 7. As any Capitol citizen will happily tell you, nothing notable comes from 7 except for lumber. Writ babbles as badly as my prep team as I am brought into the helicopter, even as the tracker is being inserted into my arm. An Avox leads us to a compartment, where I watch the world below fly past and drown out the sound of Writ's endless chatter. When the Avox returns with breakfast, the windows go dark. Of course, we wouldn't want the tributes to see the arena quite yet, would we? It is with great trepadition that I picked at my food. This might be my last meal. Who knows what to expect now? Anything could happen.

We enter the Launch Rooms, or the "Stockyards," as Tara told me her district refers to them as. Writ reveals my outfit with much extravagence. It consists of black shoes (made for running and flexibility), black pants and shirts (made of sturdy material, good for insulation), and a long, old fashioned (but high-tech) cloak, black embrodered with red. When I see my reflection, I smile grimly. The colors of darkness and blood. Writ sighs whistfully. "It will bring out the color of the tributes's hair - especially Tara's." I ignore this comment because I'm not sure what to make of it.

I stare at the wall for a long time, thinking about what may happen next. My mind seems to be malfunctioning. I can't think well. My brain keeps showing me pictures of my family back home, when I should be thinking of the Games to come. My mother, father, and little brother, Rory (who is only seven), are doubtlessly huddled together in the house, watching the dark screen grimly, anxiously. Are they proud of me? Worried? Will Rory cry out of worry for me? None of them are as short as I am - they all, even Rory, protect me fiercly because of it. But they can't protect me now - in the Games they are powerless to save me.

It is time. A cool female voice announces for me to step onto the silver plate. Writ grins at me. "Go work that outfit," he says with a laugh. I feel sick. How can he laugh? Kids will be dying within the minute. Is he really that heartless? I thought that the stylists, Gamemakers, and other officials were supposed to be slightly less clueless than the rest of the Capitol. Could I have been that wrong? I step onto the plate without responding, my back to him. The glass lifts up around me, trapping me. The floor slies up. Writ and the Stockyards are replaced by darkness. For a moment, my heart flutters nervously. Never before have I been so trapped - not even when I am in the deepest, thickest part of the woods in District 7. Then, the light above me, growing. I blink several times to clear my eyes. Before they completely focus, the voice booms in my ears, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 53rd Hunger Games begin!"

The arena comes into focus. It is a forest of deadwoods. The sky is grey and churning. Lightning flashes, providing us tributes with a source of flickering light. Everything, excluding the lightning and the golden Cornucopia before us all, is in shades of black and grey, explaining the color choices of the outfits we are all clad in. Except the red, of course. There will be plenty of red soon. After a few quick moments of looking around, my heart sinks. There is no source of water in sight.

I look around for my allies. Tara isn't too far off, Tori only two farther. Tara is looking to the forest. I see yellow eyes staring from the darkness with an almost curious air. So life does exist here, after all. This heartens me. If there are animals, there must be food and water, and perhaps they will listen to Tara like they did for her in District 10. If they are mutts, however ... who knows? I can't see any of the others, but it hardly matters. We have already straightened out our plans.

The gong goes off. I shoot off to the Cornucopia, acutely aware of my fellow tributes rushing about. I snatch up a sword similar to the one I trained with and toss another to Tori, who is close behind me. We have them out in a minute, and are covering Isabella, who has to go a bit futher to collect a mediocre bow and a collection of arrows. As she fits an arrow, I glance towards the woods, where Tara and Jacob are rushing to wait for us, laden with supplies that were pilled up nearer to the plates. I am heartened to see that Tara has a slingshot gripped tight in her hands.

Tori and I race towards them, Isabella aiming her bow carefully at anyone who seems threatening. She lets off a few, narrowly missing the boy from 5. Whether she's shooting to kill or not I don't know, nor do I care so long as we all make it out.

Most of the Careers are locked in combat, slewing the tributes brutally and without regret. All but one. Alex is gather knives near the entrance of the Cornucopia. She spots me, meeting my gaze, and pulls herself up. I know what she's thinking clearly as if she said it out loud. Time to give the Capitol a show. I hurry up and motion to the others to as well.

"Roweena!" my useless district partner, Shelton, calls from behind me. "Wait up!"

I sigh impatiently, not breaking my stride. I have to get out of here. Can't Shelton listen to me and go away? I thought I had made it very clear that I would not welcome him into the alliance. "No, Shelton. You're not with us."

His laugh is nervous. Does he know that I will hold up to my ealier statements? "This isn't the time for joking."

"I'm not, Shelton!" I snap, frusterated, gazing at where Tara and Jacob wait at the very edge of the trees, then nervously to the fighting tributes around me. I'm running out of time! "You're not with us. Now -" I never finish my sentance. Shelton drops to the ground, a knife protruding from between his shoulder blades. His eyes are glassy before he hits the ground. Dead.

I glance up to see Alex, frighteningly close, just as the knife leaves her fingers. I duck and the knife lands in the ground beside me with a thud. "Run!" I cry. Isabella lets out a sharp cry of pain, and the tree of us a running. Tara and Jacob disappear into the trees only a moment before we do as well. I grip my sword tightly as we dart among the trees, looking back for signs of Alex.

Jacob hits the ground, stumbling over a tree root. He lets out a cry of pain, louder than it should be. I glance around. The forest is so silent - it's unnatural. I long for the loud forests of home, where the birdsong is only interrupted after a tree falls. Tori helps Jacob up, and I glance around in time to see a glint of silver. "She's coming!" I whisper, glancing around wildly. Though the forest may be dark and silent, there are still places to hide. I duck behind a root, and the others follow my lead, Tara close beside me.

Alex runs by. Her speed is astonishing until I remind myself how long she trained for this. She stops a few yards back at us, and spits a few curses in the direction she assumes us to be, promising to track us down and give us the deaths we deserve. Then she stomps by, heading back to the Cornucopia. Maybe she'll be back in time to get a few kills. I hope not - Alex is one enemy I wish on no one.

When the sound of Alex's feet fades into the distance, I stand. Tara does beside me, and I get my first good look at her since we entered the arena, the lightning alluminating her form in a vicious way. Her eyes are wide, but determined. Writ was right about her hair. It does bring out the stitching in the cloak well. "Are you hurt?" I ask her, voice still lowered and sword gripped tightly in case any tributes are lurking in the trees. She shakes her head. "You?" I reply that I am not.

"Isabella is," Tori tells us grimly, motioning to where Isabella is taking a knife out of her calf, wincing. Jacob is by her side in an instant, shaking off all the supplies he was carrying. He has bandage wrapped around it in an instant, tied neatly, before I can blink. He runs his hands over it a few times, letting them do the work his eyes cannot. "Did I get it all covered?"

Isabella nods shakily. "Yes." She stares at it a moment, then at Jacob. "Thank you." Jacob shrugs and mutters something incohorent.

A scream comes from the Cornucopia. We all flinch. "Better get out of here," I mutter, helping Jacob up and sheathing my sword to take some of the supplies he was carrying. "Tori, can you cover?" Tori, helping Isabella stand, nods. "But someone will need to help Isabella walk."

Isabella shakes him off. "I'm fine." It proves that she is not fine, and surrenders, allowing Tara to help support her. "I can make you a cane or staff later," I tell her, to help her wounded pride. We set off slower than before, nearly sure that we weren't being followed, I supporting Jacob, Tara supporting Isabella, and Tori guarding us all. In silent agreement, we don't speak of Shelton. My heart aches with loanliness at the thought of his dead form - much as I was unwilling to accept Shelton, if I hadn't won, or anyone in the alliance, I would've wanted it to be him. But he was dead now, dead from a knife in the ribs that was surely meant for me...

Only about half an hour later, we collapse in the cover of the deadwoods. For a moment, we just pant. It is surprising how thirsty we are, when the climate is not particularly hot. When the thought occurs to me, I glumly think that it isn't much of anything. Rain is in the air, making saliva fill my mouth, and lightning flashes, but not a drop falls.

"Is there any water in the supplies?" Isabella wonders, gripping her already blood-soaked bandages and panting. Tara, Jacob, and I gratefully dump the supplies onto the ground, and we all began to short through it neatly. We had a total of 8 knives, 4 water bottles (empty, to our disappointment), three medical kits, two pairs of dark sunglasses, a loaf of bread, two power bars, and three packages of dried fruit as well as 3 of nuts. This was in addition to our weopons and (to our great happiness) a sleeping bag and a two-room tent. I noticed that everything had a dark tint to it - even the blades of the sword seemed abnormally dark.

"We'll have to find water soon," Tori announces grimly. I nod in agreement, instinctively tilting my head to listen for a trickle of water, but finding nothing. Instead, I see that we are surrounded by large amounts of animals, all colored black or grey. They are completely, eerily silent, making me doubt that they were actually there for a moment, just a figment of my immagination. But I see Tara staring at them also, extending a hand to a few of them, but none approach. Suddenly, I am worried. Tara had assured us that any animal in the arena would help us. However, they do not appear inclined to join us but in the slightest. I can feel the sponsers trickling away.

Then, suddenly, the cannons go off. Boom. "Shelton," I whisper despite myself. A small tear runs down my cheek, leaving a silver line. I wipe it away angrily, hoping the cameras won't show it. I need to look strong in front of the sponsers we are surely quickly moving! Boom. Boom. Who is dead? I wonder. So many ... did I speak to them in training before ... Boom. We'll know soon enough, when their faces are in the sky. Boom. How many did Alex kill, I wonder? Boom. Did she make that tribute scream? Boom. Silence.

"Seven," whispers Isabella, who bothered to count. "Seven dead."

There is a pause. "Seven less to kill," Jacob offers. Tori makes a small noise of agreement, sifting through the supplies absently. Tara glances at the animals, as if wishing they would join her. I do, too, if only so that we get more sponsers. Suddenly, I feel restless, useless sitting there. But it's Tara that says the words, "Let's get going. The Careers will want to look through their pile, and then..."

"Then they'll go hunting," I remark grimly. We reassemble the packs upon all of our backs, foremost mine and Tara's, and Tori less than the rest so that he can continue to guard. I keep my sword close at hand, though, in case of trouble. Jacob has a knife in his hand. When I ask how he plans to use it, he replies that it is so silent an arena, he'll be able to hear anyone coming easily. Tara grips her slingshot tightly, but I see no sign of rocks for her to use in it.

Though our pace is slower than before, we quickly become thirsty. Around the middle of the day (the clouds block the sun, so it's hard to guess the time), Tori glances into the sky and remarks, "It may rain," but I thought his voice was hopeful. The clouds were still an angry grey, and our lighting still came from sinister lightning bolts, none of which struck the ground, mind you, but not a tear fell upon the arena. I imagine Capitol citizens, gazing awestruck at us at this moment. Rory will be at school now, ignoring the instructor and staring at the small, battered television. Is he proud of me - sad of Shelton's death? I push these thoughts of home away when I feel a pang, before I can cry.

We stop a few times to catch our breath. Shelton changes Isabella's bandages each time, but he says he'll wait to attend to them until we stop, when she can rest it. None of us disagree - besides Tara, he is the only one who knows about medical treatments. We don't eat a thing during this long day, but can't hold back our pants long. Our pace soon becomes excruciating despite its slowness, and only our fear keeps us moving. When it must be near six, Tara suggests we stop. "I don't know if Isabella came make on much longer," she admits, glancing at the tall, raven haired girl, who doesn't object, only pants. I see now that her eyes are distant, and feel a pang of worry. We should've stopped earlier.

"Where should we camp?" I wonder, glancing around. Tori points to a place behind a particularly large tree that we partially shield us from danger. I nod in agreement, letting go of Jacob and panting a moment. My tongue rolls around in my mouth, sticking to the sides and making smaking noises. We'll have to find water soon.

Silently, I set up the tent with Tara and Tori. They don't seem to know much about them, but I do. Sometimes, back home, we have to take trips into unknown parts of the woods and scope out what types of trees, underbrush, ect. are there. And oftentimes, these jobs are long, up to a week in time. So we have tents to sleep in. However, this tent is far more high tech than the ones back home. I know it is powerfully insulated, has a stronger resistance to rain, and possibly even floats. I can only imagine what Ross, my boss, must be thinking about it.

Once it is set up, we designate one room as the girls's, and the other as the boys's. Tori carries Isabella into the girls room, and gently sits her on the sleeping bag we set there for her purpose. She protests the special treatment, but only weakly. She must be in a lot of pain. Jacob shooes Tara, Tori, and I out, taking a medical kit and setting to work upon Isabella's leg.

Tara, Tori, and I sort through the supplies. Tara's stomach growled several times, but we all ignored it. We were all hungry - used to it, too. What could be done about it? After brief debate, we eat take a handful of berries, saving the rest of the pack for Isabella and Jacob, to quench our thirst. For a few brief minutes, it works, but soon we are thirsty again. With a fair amount of self control, we sort the supplies carefully into the packs, of which there are three, one for all but two of us. We put them carefully in the boys room, since there are less of them. I try on the glasses, which make everything even darker, and fling them aside with disgust.

"Maybe that means the arena will change," Tori suggests. Tara shivers and agrees, "I hope so. I don't like this much," glancing back to the animals that still surrounded us. She seems confused as to why they won't approach. I sigh, wanting to tell her that they're probably mutts, but not wanting to point that out to sponsers. "They're useless now, anyway," I say instead, and we all fall silent.

After a time, Jacob calls us back into the tent. Tori rushes in ahead of me and Tara, reminding me and the audience of his care for her. I follow him in, reminding myself that the cameras can still see us in the tent. The Capitol is sure to have put cameras in it in the making. Isabella looks better. There is some color in her cheeks, and sense has returned to her eyes. She smiles as Tori gives her a gentle hug. "Jacob fixed me right up," she assures us, smiling at the blind boy. "He's a genius."

Jacob turns beat red. I guess, with his being blind and all, he doesn't recieve many compliments. I have the same problem with my height and people's assumptions. "It's noth-thing," he stammers out. "glad I could help."

Tori nods at him. "How bad is it, Jacob?"

Jacob shrugs. Really just a scratch. The knife only went about two or three inches in, and it's not long either. It's the blood loss from today that I'm most worried about. I stopped it as much as I could, and blood poisoning, but she'll need to eat soon." I hand him the mostly gone packet of berries, and his hands examine it. "Fruit?" he asks, and I nod before remembering to vocalize, "Yes." He nods, taking a little less than half for himself, and handing the rest to Isabella, whose eyes light up at the sight of it. The berries are gone before I can blink, which causes me a bit of regret before I brush it away. There's more food, and we'll figure out another source later. It's the water that I'm most worried about.

The anthem blares from outside the tent. I dash outside. How is it so late? I shiver, drawing the cloak around me. The temperature is dropping quickly, though I see no cause for it besides the Gamemakers. Tara is quick behind me, and Jacob and Tori help Isabella out of the tent so that she can watch the skies as well. The Capitol seal is visible through the deadwoods, and the grey sky has stopped curning for the moment, the lightning stopping its vicious snapping, and the thunder's distant roar quieting. When the anthem silences, the seal is replaced by the boy from District 3's face. It's no surprise, really. Most Games, one of 3's tributes die in the bloodbath. The girl from 5 replaces him, then the boy from 6. Shelton appears, and I can't keep the regret from my face. He is gone in a moment, and I may never see him again. Both from 8 appear, and then the boy from 12. I notice Isabella's anguished face at the sight of her district partner's face in the sky. The seal lights up again, the anthem plays once more, and then darkness again.

The darkness is broken by a frightening display of lightning, a tribute to the fallen tributes, followed by a rumble of thunder so strong that it shakes the ground, and we grip at each other to keep from falling. When it ends, the arena seems to have returned to its normal self, the lightning in the sky keeping up a flickering light source (like a candle) for us down below. We are all silent a moment, thinking of the faces we just saw, and of the lightning and thunder's tribute to the fallen. Will they do so every night? I wonder. I only hope I'll get the chance to find out.

"I'll take the first watch," I offer quietly. They catch my words and nod. "You can have the sleeping bag," Isabella offers. Tori and I both protest, but she insists, "You'll need the insulation. It's getting freezing out here," and then she flinches are her own choice of words, because what would the tributes without sleeping bags or tents do? I feel sick, and agree, somewhat reluctantly.

Tara fetches the sleeping bag and arranges it between the two entrances to the tent. "You'll come get someone when you're tired, Roweena? I'll take next watch." she checks. I smile, knowing that I'll hold out as long as I can, but eventually will give in to exhaustion. "Of course." She nods and heads back into the tent. Tori tells me, "Wake me before her, okay, Roweena?" I sigh at him and narrow my eyes. "You can't keep taking care of her, Tori. This is the _Hunger Games, _for goodness's sake. She'll have to learn to work for herself, and, better, she's willing." He flinches and won't meet my eyes. I sigh. "But, yes, I'll wake you up." He smiles at me gratefully, and helps Isabella into the tent, insisting upon carrying her. Jacob bids me goodnight and heads into the boys side.

I sigh and stand, looking around, for a moment before the chill makes me retreat to the sleeping bag. Once snuggled in, I am grateful to Isabella. It reflects my body heat perfectly, saving me from freezing, a fate many tributes may face tonight. As I settle for a long night's wait, I wonder if Rory will sit watch, too, over the television, staring at my picture. I unsheath my sword and gaze at the strange black tint it has. Then I think of the pictures in the sky and shiver, sitting the weopon down. It's going to be another long night.


	21. Hunting Fire

Alex Brown

When I see the faces of my kills from the day, the girl from 8, the boy from 7, and the boy from 12, I smirk. I killed three of the 7 that died today. Jessi, Hon, and Mar each got a kill - Hon two. Dazzle hadn't killed any because, as she put it, she was hoping tributes (all male) that she "saved," would trust her in the future and therefore give her many easy kills. I don't know why Worthing didn't kill any - probably just lacking the skill. I wonder idly what Roweena and Isabella think of me for killing their district partners. Will they plan revenge on me to kill my own partner? They can have him - he's useless as a fly. I ought to just kill him now and be done with it, but something tells me the mentors and our district wouldn't think kindly of that.

After the crazy show of lightning and thunder dies out, Hon grabs a pair of the dark glasses from our pile. He and Jessi had admitted earlier to having trained with them, and that they were night glasses that would enable us to see in the dark. "Time to try them out," he says, placing them on his head. He lets out a loud whoop, and cries, "They work! We were right!" and I cannot help but being amused as I scold him, "Be careful, or all the tributes will be scared out of their minds." He smirks, "Let them be!"

"So..." Dazzle says slowly. "What do you say to going hunting?" I grin savagely at the thought. The night glasses will give us a clear advantage - giving us the ability to see in between the many flashes of lightning alluminating the churning sky. Plus, this will give Dazzle a chance to test her theroy. "I'm in," I say, jumping up and grabbing a handful of knives, daring them to contradict me. None of them do.

"Me, too," Hon grins and grabs a sword, "good chance to try out this, eh?"

"Agreed," Mar straps on his own belt and extends a hand to Jessi, helping her up. She goes and fetches a dagger and a wickedly curved shortsword. Without speaking, we have all agreed that Worthing will be staying behind. Worthing, however, isn't on the same page, as they say in District 1. "Wait. I'm going too, aren't I?"

I sigh and place a pair of night glasses upon my head. "No, Worthing, you're going to guard the supplies. It's the simpliest, easiest, and most important job." Worthing doesn't look convinced, but doesn't object, either. He knows as well as I do from our days in training that my words are correct. If we didn't have a guard for the supplies, the tributes would come and take what they wanted at their leisure. And that _can't _be allowed.

I put my hands on my hips and stare around the deadwoods surrounding the Cornucopia. We Careers are yet to venture into them, mainly because we've been busy with the supplies and the bodies, and all that fun stuff. "Which way?" Hon asks. I point to a point in the deadwoods where I noticed several tributes disappearing. "That way." The others mutter agreements, and we set off quickly. I am glad to see that the others have had the same training in stealth that I have, and we are silent shadows in the already dark forest.

We haven't been going for longer than fourty minutes when Jessi hisses for us to stop. It's only a breath of a sound, but it's still abnormally loud in the arena. I can't help but feel a shiver of displeasure. The arena is working against us at the moment. Jessi jerks her arm towards a shadow up ahead, and I squint to see a tribute's, a boy, I think, outline in the darkness. Dazzle's eyes light up. She looks at us, and I understand that this is one of the tributes that she has already managed to mess with. I nod to her to continue, and she hands me her night glasses. She proceeds to running clumsily forward, purposefully making noise, stumbling over roots, panting, and glancing over her shoulder. When she is near the boy, she trips and falls onto her hands and knees. She remains there, and I think I hear a sob.

"Hulloa?" the boy calls. I nearly groan aloud. His accent is similar to the Capitol's, a trait that immediately annoys me. "Is anyone there?" he stands, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. "Don't come any closer! I - I'm not afraid to hurt you!" I meet Jessi's eye, and we both grin. The boy has no idea what he's dealing with. Dazzle lets out another sob, and, with the aid of my night glasses, I can see real tears streaming down her cheeks. She does not call back to the boy, but he has heard the sobbing and is interested. "Who is there?" he is squinting, and after a bright flash of lightning, calls, "Dazzle, is that you?" At the sound of her name, Dazzle's head lifts and she squints in the direction of the boy. Her voice is hoarse, as though she has been crying awhile. "Percy? Is that you?"

The boy, Percy, calls out, "Yes," and makes his way over to Dazzle slowly. "Are ... are you okay?" Dazzle nods and wipes her face, though tears keep spilling out. "I ... I ran off," she admits. "From the other Careers, that is." Percy is obviously taken aback, and asks her reasons for such a drastic action. Then, more hesitantly, he asks if she killed any tributes today.

I expect Dazzle to be honest, but she bursts into thicker tears, sobbing, "That's just the thing, Percy. They saw me let you get away, and I had to - had to kill to try and make them not suspect me." Percy's face is confused. "Who?" he asks. Dazzle sobs out, "District 5." I see Mar stiffen as Dazzle takes credit for his kill. She'd better apologize for this later, I reflect.

Percy crouches down beside Dazzle. "But," Dazzle sobs, "it didn't work. They cornered me and tried to - tried to kill me." she hiccuped. "and I ran, and I ran, and ..." she reaches out a touches his cheek gently, and for a moment I genuinely believe she has feelings for this boy. "and I found you." Percy's gaze softens with surprise, disbelief, and tenderness. I nearly snort. Can he actually believe that Dazzle would fall for _him?_ Surely he must know that she has been trained to kill.

"Oh, Dazzle," he sighs, touching her hand. She mumbles his name and the tears stop streaming down her cheeks. "Are you all right?" Percy wants to know. Dazzle replies that she's going to be fine, so long as he doesn't leave her. She sits up and draws him in for a long kiss. When she draws back, Percy leans forward a bit and I'm sure my snicker shows on my expression. Dazzle's innocent look has changed to devious. "Did you like that, Percy?" He seems a bit dazed. "Yes. Mmmmm." He leans in, making the move, but the kiss is quicker. When Dazzle pulls away again, he smooths her hair, trying to figure out why she did.

"Percy," she whispers. "Do you love me?" She kisses his cheek, his jaw, and his hair, repeating the question. "Do you love me?" Percy tucks a lock of Dazzle's hair behind her ear. "Yes. Do you love me?" Dazzle wraps her arms around his neck and meets his lips again. This time, she really overdoes it. I feel a bit sickened by the display, and that's from _me._ Hon and Jessi look disgusted as well, but Mar is studying the exchange with interest. Suddenly, I am filled with dislike for Marvelous.

When Dazzle finally moves about an inch away from Percy, he doesn't follow again. Perhaps he's expecting an answer, but Dazzle still doesn't give it. Pretending to let her hands wander, I see her fetch a knife. Good. I was getting tired of watching this exchange. "Do you love me, too, Dazzle?" Still not replying, she leads him in another kiss, this time letting the hand without the knife wander his chest, as though wondering where the knife should enter. His hand goes to hers as well, but with entirely different intentions. "Dazzle," he says into the kiss. "Do you -" he breaks off as Dazzle whips away from him, her knife on his chest, pressed lightly over his heart. Blood is making a slow stain. She waits for Percy, shocked, to see it before pinning him to the ground. "Yes, Percy, I love you very much." and then the knife in in his heart. As the light slowly drains from his eyes, Dazzle makes a show of carefully caressing and kissing his facial features. "Bye-bye, Percy," she croons as his cannon goes off. "bye-bye."

After a few more moments of Dazzle loving on Percy's dead body, I call out, "Okay, Dazzle, that's enough. We all get the point."

With a humph, she pulled herself up and tossed her hair. "All right then, Brown, but I'll bet you didn't give the Capitol a show like that when you killed your three tributes." I snarl viciously at her, "I did it quickly, which is why I have three kills and you just have one." We glared at each other a moment, and I suddenly realized that I had just decided that both of the District 1 tributes were my enemies, making myself a target when the Career pack split. So I hiss out, "Let's get going again," and when we do, I fall in step between Hon and Jessi, my only real friends in the arena at that moment.

Too soon to believe, we come across a pair of tributes, sleeping side by side. Neither are on watch, and I chuckle quietly. Idiot tributes are practically begging to be killed. I glance around at the pack, and see Hon gesturing to him and Jessi. Their kills. Mar and Dazzle don't look too happy about this, but I motion agreement. Might as well be on good terms with these two.

We move in as a pack, weopons in hands. I expect the tributes to have _some _sense and to wake, but they don't. After a few moments of silent deliberation, Dazzle kisses the boy (the other is a girl) awake. It takes several long smooches for his eyes to slide open. His eyes grew wide immediately at the sight of Dazzle, in all her beauty before him. Dazzle cannot refrain from another kiss before smoothing his hair and saying, "Sorry, but you're not mine," and climbing off of him. The boy gets his first look at us, and backs up into the tree, pulling his cape over him and obviously feeling that Dazzle violated his privacy.

I point my knife at him. "What district are you from?"

"D-district 6," he stammers out. I move my knife to the girl. "her too," he tells me.

"Wake her up," Jessi's eyes have a savage gleam to them and she turns to Hon. "You have the boy, but the girl's mine." Hon indicates that this is fine by him. He then points his sword at the District 6 boy and he quickly wakes his partner, whose eyes snap open wide at the sight of the Careers before them. Jessi and Hon, grinning, take places in front of the tributes and raise their weopons.

The ends of the tributes of District 6 are slow. I don't turn away from a moment of it like I see Dazzle do. I want to see the light drain from their eyes, want to see their bodies go slack. I want to audience to know that I'm strong, even if I haven't given them a show yet. Before the girl dies shortly after the boy, she meets my eyes, a silent cry for help. I smirk as she dies, as her cannon goes off. Hon spits on the bodies. "Go back where you came from, District 6 scum." and I laugh for the show, despite the anger it will cause in District 6.

Mar seems in a mood since he hasn't gotten to kill a tribute yet. "Let's go on," he huffs, and Hon and Jessi wipe their blades on the tough black grass, leaving bloodstains that make the red thread in their cloaks stand out nicely. Then we leave so that they can collect the marred bodies for the families back home.

Eventually, we spot smoke drifting above the treetops. "Someone's started a fire!" I hiss gleefully, all anger at Mar and Dazzle momentarily forgotton. We hurry in the direction of the fire, but I soon stop at the smell. "Wait..." I say slowly. Jessi stops in front of me, smelling deeply like I am. The others keep waiting. I glance to the sky nervously. This isn't the smell of a controlled fire. It's...

A lightning bolt streaks down towards where I stand. I don't think - I just dive away from it, streaking past Jessi, who appears to be frozen in shock, and to where the others have stopped in shock. The light from the bolt is so bright, I have to close my eyes. Jessi lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and when I can see again, there is just a pile of ash and fire racing towards me, a cannon ringing in my ears... Then I'm up and running, dashing through trees and away from the fire. I'm vaguely aware of Hon, Dazzle, and Mar around me, running as well, but I'm too concentrated on running to aknowledge them in any way.

Just when I think we're getting away from the fire(s), another crack makes me jump away. Then I'm up and running from another fire... I notice that the trees and other brush are not burning - rather, the trees appear to be in full, autumn bloom with their ghostly flames, silent as ever. There is nothing more foreboding that I've ever seen and ever care to see again.

I'm not sure how long I run like this, unaware of my surroundings, until I finally fall down from exhaustion. I have several burns from close encounters, but nothing is too serious. I sit there, gasping for a moment, expecting another bolt from the sky to strike me down, but none comes. When I sit up, I realize the Capitol must've gotton their show. Their done for the moment. I glance around. Dazzle, Hon, and Mar are laying, panting beside me. They all seem to be suffering similar burns to mine, but their manageable. It's Hon I'm worried about. He's sitting up, staring into the trees, now dark and silent as before, his mouth open. "Jessi...Jessica..." he keeps whispering. I walk over and slap him to bring him back to his senses, but he just falls to the ground, unconcious. I sigh. Well, an unconcious Hon is better then an insane, awake Hon.

I glance at the District 1 tributes. Both are looking around themselves as though dazed. I notice that Dazzle's eyes are wide and unseeing. She has lost her glasses. I glance to the sky, expecting to see the lightning flashing around in the clouds like before, but there is none. I take off my glasses and see - nothing. It is completely dark. I put my glasses back on, unnerved by the darkness. Tributes without these glasses will be easy prey, I think. But Dazzle won't be able to see, either. I glance at Hon and see his are snapped. I pick them up and decide that they are mendable. When I shift my weight, me leg burns. The worst burn is on my shoulder, which is unfortunate. I sit down and carefully examine them. They'll heal pretty quickly - I've suffered worse in training.

"Hello?" Dazzle calls into what is, to her, darkness. "Is anyone there?" I reply that I am neaby, and that Hon is too. Mar reassures her that he is there, and moves closer to her. There is a pause, and then Dazzle asks, "You saw what happened to Jessi, too, right? I didn't just ... imagine it?" I shudder at the thought of the pile of ashes that Jessi's family will recieve to bury. Silently, I swear I will not allow my own family to meet the same remains of me.

"I saw it, too," Mar said. "I don't think I could've imagined anything that ... horrible." Dazzle laughs - actually laughs - and nudges him playfully. "You have no imagination, that much is true." My heart lightens at seeing them like this, and I breathe again. If they can joke like this, then they are not as messed up as Hon is. Quickly, I give them the run down on Hon's condition. They sigh at this. "Poor guy," Dazzle said. "Imagine going through _that."_ I personally think I wouldn't be too bothered if Worthing was burnt to a pile of ashes, but then again...

"Worthing!" I gasp. "Where's Worthing?" The others look concerned, and I gasp, "and the supplies! What if they're burning now?" Mar stands immediately. "We have to go see," he says, helping as-good-as-blind Dazzle up. I toss them Hon's broken glasses, which Mar catches and helps Dazzle fashion onto her face. She'll have to hold them on, but she can manage. Mar picks Hon up with ease and we stare around for a bit. "Which way?" Dazzle whispers. Mar mutters that he doesn't know. They've lost their sense of direction. Smirking, I think for a moment and point in a general direction. "The Cornucopia's that way." They don't question me, and we begin our fast pace through the woods again.

We see the Cornucopia after only a short time, like a becon of gold in the darkness. It seems to give off its own life, but that might just be my mind working visions into my head. It had, after all, been a long night. We burst into the clearing around the Cornucopia and find ... ashes. "No!" I scream, panting in anger. "No!" Dazzle and Hon are acting likewise, and Hon even begins to beat the ground with his fists. I rush forward and search through the rubble. I hear someone calling Worthing's name, and I realize after a time that it is me. I find no sign of him until I see the bones, blackened by fire, but not reduced to ash like Jessi. "No, Worthing..." my voice is quieter now, and I stare at the bones for a long time. I hadn't known how much Worthing meant of home to me until that moment. Silently, I plot my revenge on the Gamemakers for killing him.

I stand up shakily and begin to sort through the ash for supplies that are still useable, as Dazzle and Mar have already begun to do. We find nothing but we what we had taken with us. After staring around for a moment, I decide, "We have to get away from here." Mar and Dazzle gaze at me sharply, looking a bit startled. "It's a weak place," I explain. "Every tribute knows of it, and now that the supplies are gone, we might as well get away from it." They nod silently in agreement, glancing at each other. Perhaps they are thinking of how they are the only district partners left in the Career pack, or maybe they're wondering how soon we'll have to break, with so many of us gone. I ignore them and pick up my pack. It doesn't have much, but it does have my knives and some basic medic supplies. Just as we're about to move out, a parachute floats from the sky. I grab it and open it. The smell is easy for me to identify - burn medicine. I grin and show Dazzle and Mar. So we still have sponsers - and wealthy ones, too.

Suddenly remotivated, I lead the other Careers into the deadwoods, the burn medicine clutched in my hands like the life saver it is.


	22. The Black Wolf

Tara Goldsteed

I lay, panting, beside someone else - Tori, I think. The light from the fire still stings my eyes. No matter how much I blink, I still see the dancing colors before me. Exhausted, my only thought is to find water, but I'm too weak to make myself get up to search. We ran from the fire and the lightning for hours, days, maybe. I can't be sure. We would've called that heat lightning in District 10. But back in District 10, we have fire-fighters to put out the fire. Here the arena doesn't burn, but adapts the ghostly, beautiful flames to itself and clothes itself with them while its tributes burn around them.

I'm badly burnt, I think. Something is burning on me, but it's not eating my flesh... I look around, but I don't see anything. Have I gone blind? This brings some sense back to me. I try to sit up but it hurts too badly. Instead, I whisper, "Is anyone here?" I recieve no answer. Panicing, I call louder, "Is anyone here?" Silence greats my words.

Desperate, I stretch out my arms slowly and grope for something in the darkness. I find a piece of fabric and pull it closer to me, heart pounding. It is my backpack. I hug it to my chest, trying to think. What happened when we were running? I seem to remember Tori lying beside me... Instinctively, I reach out for him, but he is not there. Did I imagine that, or has he gone off looking for me? Where is everyone - did we get lost in fire storm? I reach my hands above my head, which is particularly painful. I think my neck has a burn, but I cannot be too sure. I feel around, and my fingers find tree bark. Slowly, so as not to injure myself, I pull my back to the bark and sit, panting.

The pain has subsided from what I imagined it to be earlier. Breathing deeply, I run my fingers around my body. I find that there are four seperate burns; one on my neck, another on my calf, one on my shoulder blade, and the last on my ankle, the one on my neck being the worst, and the one on my ankle being the best. I badly need something to put on them, and my want for water grows stronger. My clothes aren't in too good of condition - the back of my shirt is partially burnt, and my pant leg where I burnt both my calf and ankle is practically unfixable. Thankfully, I had the good sense to stuff the cloak into my bag, or it may have been the end of me. I take it out now and cover myself with it - how cold the unburnt parts of me are!

I sit there, shivering, for a moment, wondering about the others. Are any of them together? Did the Gamemakers want to seperate us because we were being rebellious. I try to think for a moment about that, but my mind keeps wandering. We didn't do anything rebellious, did we? Then the thought occurs to me that they could all be dead, which is why I thought that Tori was next to me one minute, and gone the next. The hovercraft could've collected his body while I was passed out - I could be alone! The thought is so terrifying, I allow my mind to wander back home.

Matthew, Leah, and Auntie are surely staring at the screen. What are they thinking, what are they doing? Auntie is probably crying and begging me to do something. Leah may have the animals gathered into the house so that they can watch me, staring at the screen silently. The animals may be making a ruckus, or they may just watching silently as Leah. Matthew is speaking to the television as though I can hear him, telling me what to do with an air of despair...

The thought brings me back to the arena. What would Matthew tell you to do? I hear his voice in my ear, coming from so far away. "Look through the bag. Stay awake. Stay alert. Take inventory." I take the bag and open it, keeping the cloak wrapped tightly around me. Two bags of nuts and one of fruit, a knife, an empty water bottle, five strips of dried meat, a loaf of bread, and a pair of the dark sunglasses. After silent debate, I allow myself to eat a handful of berries, forcing myself to stop after that. My stomach growls - two handfuls of berries in... how many days have I slept? The fact that I don't know is startling. And not a drop of water in that time! I drop the thought from my mind. I'll have to find food and water soon...

My eyes snap open. I must've dozed off, though I'm not sure what caused me to wake. I glance around suspiciously, but there is, of course, nothing to see, and nothing to hear at the moment. I wonder where the Careers are. If they are well enough, they are doubtlessly out hunting tributes right now. Suddenly, it occurs to me that I am in a very vulnerable state. But there's nowhere I can go - it is completely dark out here. If only I had water I might be able to manage...

I glance to the sky, and suddenly, a thought occurs to me. My mentor, Petri, could send me water at this very moment if only I have sponsers. Surely he must know that I need it. But the price of water must've just flown up after the fires. I groan at the thought. Is there any water in the arena? If not, I (and several others, I am sure) will be dead by sundown. Of course, there is not sun here, no way of telling the time in complete blackness where anything could be lurking...

I take out the bread and allow myself to take a chunk of it and eat it. It is good, hearty bread, but not enough to silence my stomach. Pained, I stay still, the cloak wrapped around me like a blanket. _If I have to die, _came the sudden thought. _Why can't it at least be quick?_

I jolt awake again at the sound of the anthem. I can see the Capitol seal easily. And, I realize, I can see around me! I am in another section of the forest, undistinguished like the forests back home. There are no other tributes (or supplies) or water around me. There are, however, animals. They are staring at me. When they catch me looking, they all rush away, but for one larger than the others. I can't tell what it is - a dog of some sort, maybe? I motion for him to come forward, but he stays put, silent and observing.

Quickly, I glance up in time to see the kills for the day. The girl from 4, a Career, appears in the sky. I am a bit surprised, because normally they all last longer. At the same time, I'm relieved, because she's one bloodthirsty tribute to worry about. Then both from 6 and the boy from 9. Then the seal, and then darkness once more.

In a way, I'm relieved. Tori, Roweena, Isabella, and Jacob are still alive, somewhere, and the girl from 4 is dead. At the same time, I'm feeling a little desperate. So many are dead... seven from the first day, and five from today. That's 11 dead so far - almost half of us gone, half of us left. That's assuming that I didn't miss a day. The Gamemakers must want these Games to be quick. I feel robbed, like they're stealing away my days. I glance back at where the dog must be, but it doesn't approach me.

I drift into anxious sleep, in and out of reality. I keep picturing Alex creeping up on me out of the darkness, leaping out with a knife and stabbing me before I knew what to make of it all. Then I dreamed she was going to face Isabella, Jacob, Roweena, and Tori. I woke with loud gasps at this point, soaked in what small amount of sweat my body managed to produce and freezing cold. Shaking with weakness, I reach up and touch my forehead - it's burning hot. I moan slightly into the night, unable to contain the pain any longer. I press my back against the tree, finally accepting that I'm going to die right here, in the darkness, covered in blood, and unbearable cold and hot at the same time. Matthew ... Leah ... Auntie ... the animals ... I only hope that it won't be too painful for them to watch. I seem unable to keep ahold of concionceness, and drift away again...

I wake to the feeling of something prodding my arm. I flinch and instinctively move away, my heart pounding and head spinning. Is Alex here? She might be able to finish me off quicker than this slow, painful death that the Gamemakers seem to have planned for me. For some reason, I think of Tori. He worked so hard to keep me alive... all those efforts were going to go to waste the moment he saw my face in the sky. The thing prods at me again, and it suddenly occurs to me that it was furry with ... hair. I blink again in the darkness. Does dehydration case hallucinations? I can't remember.

It nudges against me again, and I recognize the fuzzy quality of fur. I blink and reach out my hands to touch it - it is fur! Dog fur, if my hands can still be trusted. Something rough is pressed against my chin. Weakly, I move it slightly, opening my mouth in the process. The thing is moved to my lips, and I feel something wet. Instinctively, I move my sore tongue to it, and suddenly there is delicious, wonderful water floating on my tongue. I gulp it down eagerly, foam forming at my mouth. Then the stick and the fur are gone. I call out suddenly, begging it not to leave, but it doesn't return.

I drift through more dreams. I dream that the fur and the water are back, quenching my thirst for a short time before disappearing and reappearing again. Over and over it happens. I don't know how long I dream. I only know that I wake up to the rough material on my lips again, and this time I have the strength to tip it into my mouth myself. In doing so, I touch the fur, and reach out instinctively to touch watever it is, and I am nearly sure that it is dog fur. It and the stick disappear again, and I am alone.

I reach over to my bag again, and bring out a few nuts. I make myself eat them, because now that my thirst is retreating, my hunger is mounting. The few nuts aren't enough to end my hunger or even to silence it, but I'm thirsty again. I rummage through my bag some more, my head still pounding noticably, and wishing desperately that I could see. My hands fall on the dark glasses, and the thought hits me. What if they're ... night glasses? I saw them used in a Game a few years ago. Is it possible that they were put into the bags to allow the tributes to be able to move in this endless darkness? My breath suddenly quick, I snatch them up and shove them onto my face.

Light, I am first aware of. Momentarily, I am blinded. Then, I can see - not as well as I could in the day, but I can still see! I am sitting between two old, knarled roots of a tree, surrounded by more in dense clumps. I can see no sign of the mysterious fur and water, but I do see a paw print. Squinting, I make it out to be a wolf's, coming towards me from in between the trees. So a wolf has been coming to me ... I don't know if I imagined the water part, but I feel hydrated, all the same.

Guessing that there was only one way to find out if the dreams had actually occured, I fix my eyes on the way the paw print was coming from, searching the muted forest for a glimpse of a wolf. I force myself to eat some more berries as I do so, acutely aware of the fact that my supplies are running out quickly. Suddenly, a shadow shifts from the rest and a wolf appears, eyes bright and seeing in the darkness. In his jaws he holds a branch with a groove in it that is filled with water. I feel a flash of recognition. That is how I was drinking! The wolf was bringing me water in the branch!

The wolf appears unaware that I am concious and seeing, for he brings the branch to me as he always has, gently pressing it to my mouth and tipping the water in. As he removes the branch, I reach out and grip his coat. For a moment, his eyes dart up to mine, and I think that he recognizes my intellegence in that brief glance. "Hello," I whisper in the voice I reserve for hurt and young animals. "I'm Tara Goldsteed." He lets out a small whine, which I am relieved to hear, because I had feared that he was mute.

Keeping one hand tight on his coat, I quickly fetch one of the meat strips and offer it to the wolf. "Here. Take it." The wolf, not leaving his gaze from my eyes, swipes the meat up with his tongue and chews for a moment before swallowing. Then, he lets out one of those happy dog pants. Smiling slightly, I brush my hand across his muzzle. "You're a good dog, you know that? You saved my life." He whines happily and settles down beside me, nudging my hand as he begs me to rub his snout. I comply happily, feeling as though I am home again, with my animals in the forest, Matthew, Auntie, and Leah waiting with a cobbler nearby. It is the nearest I have felt to belonging ever since the moment that Leah was reaped.

I remember hearing Matthew's voice instructing me. "Stay awake. Stay alert," I tell the wolf, whose black eyes study my face carefully, trying to make out the meaning of my words. "Take inventory. Stay alive." I begin to cry, suddenly, into the wolf's fur. Matthew ... I miss my twin. He would know just what to do now. My hand flies to my bag, clutching the slingshot tightly. Matthew taught me how to use a slingshot. Matthew had told me a story about a little boy who had killed a giant with a simple slingshot - a shot right between the eyes. Matthew would want me to have this slingshot - to use it, and come home to him. Matthew would find rocks - heavy and pointed ones - to use in the slingshot. Matthew would find food, somehow.

But Matthew isn't here. The thought is bitter and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I am on my own.

The wolf wines up at me, licking my face. I laugh despite myself. Maybe I am not as alone as I had thought. The dog, as well as I can tell in the shifting light the night glasses provide, is fit and strong. He doesn't flicker like a figment of my mind - figments don't bring water, and are not felt. This dog, I believe, is not mutt. That is why the rest of the animals ignored me. They were mutts. Was the wolf brought in as a last-minute addition, after the Gamemakers found out my skill with animals? Or was he a gift from Petri and my sponsers? The thought that I may have sponsers lightens my heart and I lift my face from the wolf's fur.

"Well," I tell the wolf, "first thing's first." He lets out a bark, the first I've heard from him. His bark is low and deep, with many layers of color. At the mere thought of what his howl must sound like, I cannot resist a sigh. He barks again, and I start, remembering my sentance. "Oh, right. First. I have to get to the water that you were bringing me. You were very clever to find that branch, by the way. But I'll need more water than that. Can you take me to the water?"

The wolf blinks once, twice, thrice, before shaking himself and standing up. He studies me a long moment, eyes darting to my burned calf and then to my neck. "I'm hurt," I aknowledge. "but once I get to water, I'll be a lot better." The wolf barks once, and I take it to mean that he is asking, 'Can you walk?' I reply to him that I can try, and he backs away, waiting for my action.

Taking a deep breath, I disentangle myself from the sleeping bag, rolling it up carefully and neatly. I place my backpack aside, checking it for the necessary supplies more often than necessary, delaying the inevitable. When I cannot anymore, I take a deep breath and sit myself up straight. The burned calf and ankle sting like they're on fire all over again, but I grit my teeth and deal with it, knowing that invaluable sponsers are watching. I force myself to pull them up to my chest, so that I am sitting in the fetal position. I allow myself a short rest, moving my neck side to side, trying to judge how well I will be able to manage with the nasty burn on it.

Slowly and shakily, with the aid of the deadwood, I ease myself into a hunched leaning position. Whatever water the wolf managed to transfer to me is long gone; sweated out of my pours and now covering me in a sticky layer of sweat. The wolf wines as I hesitate, panting, but he keeps his distance, seeming to know that I have to do this myself; I have to prove to the sponsers that I can take care of my injuries.

Gingerly, I attempt to put weight onto my ankle. The burning rushes into my calf, and I grit my teeth, hands tight on the bark of the dogwood. With the greatest care, I step onto the leg, keeping most of my weight on the other. Beyond the pain, I suck a deep breath through gritted teeth and change feet, taking care not to loose my balance. Slowly, in this jerky way, I make my way across the forest floor, to the wolf.

I am leaning on a tree when I fall. My hurt ankle had slipped, unable to bear my weight any longer. The wolf darted under me, breaking my fall, but whining in pain as my weight crashed into him. I fall a short way and hit the ground with a grunt. Immediately, the wolf's snout is in my face, sniffing worridly. I push it away so that I can breathe, but don't move otherwise. The burn on my neck is on fire, nearly as much as the shoulder blade, which I landed on. I black out.

When I come to, the wolf has brought me more water. I drink it down greedily, though most is gone by the time it reaches the swallowing stage. I pat the wolf. "Good boy." my voice is thick, and my body burns. Carefully, I remove my bag and unroll my bedroll. "Do you think that you can pull me to the water, boy?" He wines, which may be a yes or a no. But he doesn't object when I attatch the bedroll to him in a sort of makeshift harness and lug myself onto it. "Okay, boy," I take a deep breath. "Go."


	23. Blind in the Darkness

_Note: For some reason, I fel the inclanation to write a chapter of TBW today, so here it is! From dear Isabella Everdeen's POV. To myself, I refer to her as Izzy Deen. Kinda hippy, huh? Anyway, who are you rooting for? Izzy Deen, Roweena, Tori, Tara, Jacob, or Alex?_

Isabella Everdeen's POV

I don't know where Tori is. The thought keeps rebounding inside of my head. Where is Tori? How could I loose him? Who took him away? I can feel part of me slipping away along with him, and I desperately search for an answer to the angry question. It doesn't take me too long, in the deep, deep darkness, to find an answer. The Capitol took him. They took him away from me, and now he may be dead. I may never see him again because they took him from my side; far from my side where I can protect him.

Where is he? Does he have some of our allies with him? There is someone beside me, not moving, maybe dead, maybe just still passed out. I am too tired to see who it is. But I do know one thing. It's not Tori. Tori is larger, bulkier, more substancial than this person. Maybe whoever is beside me isn't one of our allies at all, only another tribute. Or maybe it is one of the beasts that Tara could not tame.

Tara ... as the youngest of our alliance, it is no surprise that I feel inclined to help her more. Tori, too, feels this, but of course that is because of his involvement in her parent's deaths. It was, I think in wonder, not for the first time, a true miracle that Tori had not died as everyone around him did. Maybe he is lucky. Maybe he is too lucky to die in this strange, strange place, away from my side.

I don't know if my eyes are closed are not, not in this dark, dark place where trees become torches to light up the place where children kill each other, where they burn in the light and suffocate in the thick, thick darkness. Does Tori feel the same way as me? Is he thinking of me as I am of him, right now? Or is he dead, bleeding out his life on the black ground by the black trees, under the black sky? I can see it, easily, in my mind. The red of his blood is as brillant as Tara's hair, but no one is there to see the brillance, not in the deep, soffocating darkness.

"Tori," I choke out. The small effort hurts my throat, but I cannot tell if the pain is from emotion or from burns. I don't remember being burnt. All I remember is fire, fire everywhere, as I screamed, not thinking of staying by Tori. Thinking he was close behind. How stupid was I! And now it might be too late. Now he might be dead. My body attempts to produce tears, but I'm so thirsty - so thirsty! - that it cannot manage the succeed in the effort. Instead, I let out painful, dry sobs.

Beside me, the figure stirs slightly. The movement, the change in the never-ending landscape, stops my sobbing suddenly. Who is beside me? Tara? Roweena? "Hello?" I prod the person carefully. Yes, it is a person. There is not fur. I can feel the burnt fabric of the outfits we all wore into this death. "Who is this?" A cough and a moan respond. But this is enough to allow me to identify the voice and the person along with it. "Jacob!"

"Where are we?" he mumbles.

I look around before I remember that I cannot see. "I don't know. It's completely dark here. Not that you'd know, I guess." I laugh suddenly as I realize that Jacob is the only tribute unchanged by this newest twist in the Games. In fact, it's as though the Gamemakers decided to make the Games fair and put us all in his position.

"Is it?" Jacob chockes out a laugh. "How unfair for you all." And I realize that he is right. Jacob has had a lifetime to adjust to the darkness, while we have to learn quickly. Our lives depend on it. "Are you in pain?" Jacob's voice is sudden.

It takes me a moment to realize what he means. I have been too preoocupied with Tori and the darkness to investigate whether or not I've been burnt, let alone if I'm in pain. I close my eyes, which changes no aspect of the darkness, and run my hands around myself. I feel only one burn, on my back, and it seems small enough. When probed, it bsends a sharp stab of pain up my spine, but not unbareably. I've seen patients with burns from the mines all my life. I know how to heal this simple one, if there are the right herbs around here ... My leg is bleeding again, from where Alex cut me, and the skin is hot around it. "Not badly. You?"

"Not at all," he is astonished. "A bit scratched up, but no burns. I'm just ... really sleepy." he yawns as though to demonstrate.

"Oh, no you don't," I snap. "You're not going to sleep on me." I'm scared that if he does sleep, he'll never wake up, and I'll be alone to wonder again. And then what will I do?

Jacob murmurs agreements, and falls silent. I can tell from his steady breathing that he is not sleeping - not yet, anyway. I'm contemplating where the Careers are now, just as much as I am where Tori is. In a way, it's more important that we find where the Careers are hiding out. Because they're more dangerous. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer," I remind myself aloud.

Jacob snorts. "Fine job we've done - keeping our friends close."

I nod in agreement before I remember that neither of us can see it. "We'll just have to do better with the enemies, I guess."

I sense that Jacob is about to respond when the anthem suddenly blares, and the world is lit by the screen in the sky. Momentarily, I am blinded. But my eyes are focused by the time the girl from 4's face pops into the sky. I stare a moment before remembering that Jacob can't see. I glance over at him, blank eyes looking at the sky. He is, as he suspected, unharmed but for a few scratches. "Who's dead?"

"The girl from District 4," I tell him, as the next face takes her place. "The girl from 6 - the boy, too. Wonder if they had an alliance ..." We're both holding our breath. If Roweena is dead, her face will appear next. But no, it's - "The boy from 9." My heart's pounding. If Tara or Tori are dead, they'll appear next ... but the Capitol seal appears and the music ends with a flourish.

I let out a sigh of relief and look to where I know Jacob is, though the light is gone. "They're alive," I say. "All alive." He doesn't answer. "We have to go find them," I say, opening my eyes and seeing only Tori's face. "We have to find out where they are!"

Jacob's voice has scorn, "How's your leg? I'm surprised you were able to run from the fire."

"I don't remember pain," I tell him. "Only fear. And anger. And more fear."

A pause. "Do you have a pack?" he wants to know.

My heart plummets. "No. I don't." Upon further investigation, I find a welcome surprise. "But I do have my bow and arrows. I can get us food. And... and if any tribute attacks us, I can shoot them."

"In the darkness?" Jacob asks, and I can imagine him, shaking his head. "Not even you can do that, Isabella."

My voice is small. "I can try." Then I sigh and run my hands through my hair. "I have to find Tori, Jacob. I just have to."

He sighs right along with me. "You're not going anywhere on that leg, Isabella. Not until it's healed." I hear him rustling around. "I wish I had a medicine bag." I don't respond, because what good will wishing do? "Wait. Do you remember running, Isabella?"

I squint in concentration. "A little bit, I guess. I heard screaming, and came out of the tent. Then I saw the fire ... I ran, I think. But I couldn't have gotten far, not on my leg. I must've collapsed, and ..." My eyes widen as I realize what he's thinking. "Do you?"

"No," Jacob's voice is excited. "So that means that we must be right by the tent!" The very idea of supplies, cover, and relative safety is enough to make us both stir, reaching our arms out, and praying to feel the touch of fabric.

"Oh, Jacob," I sigh as the thought hits me, falling back into despiar. How cruel hope was! "What if it burned? And even if not, how will we find it?"

Jacob's answer was still confident. "It wouldn't burn. The Capitol made it - surely it is resistant to at least the elements! And we'll find it, Isabella, I promise. We'll find it the way that I find everything - by trial and error. And when one of us moves, the other will stay so that we don't wander away without noticing. You stay here. I'm going to look." And he drags himself away, shuffling and searching. Every few moments, I call out his name and he responds, quietly. You never know if a Career is lurking nearby. After only a few minutes, he cries, "Here, Isabella! Here! I found it!" and I'm crawling towards his voice, raked with dry sobs of relief.

We hurry into the tent. It is considerably warmer than outside, and I hadn't noticed before that I was cold. Quickly, we rummage around for supplies. The sleeping bag and three packs are gone, with Roweena, Tori, and Tara, probably. I hope that they are together, and faring well. However, left to us is the tent, my arrows, two knives, a medical kit, and a packet of juicy berries. Immediately following the discovery of the berries, Jacob and I devour half of the bag. Our thirsts are hardly quenched, but we stop after half, knowing that we must save what we have.

Jacob insists, and I lay down so that he can rewrap and treat my leg. "It's actually healing," he tells me. "the fire episode didn't harm it, not much anyway. You'll be able to walk well soon." I sigh in relief, and ask if there is anything for burns in the kit. He replies that it is not, and insists upon seeing the small burn on my back. After much insisting upon my part that it was all right, Jacob nods and sits down.

"We have to find them, Jacob," I tell him.

"I know," he agrees. "but first we have to rest. Sleep. Your leg will be better when we wake up, and then we can find some water."

I frown. I want to find our alliance first, but Jacob's got a point. A lifetime of watching the Games has taught us exactly how much we need water to survive. "Right. And then we find the others." Tori, Tori, Tori, I'm coming to find you!

"But first," he yawns. "Sleep." I curl up on the ground, feeling safe but empty. Maybe it's jst my hollow stomache, or maybe my parched mouth, but I have a feeling that the emptiness comes from the lack of Tori being around.


End file.
